


The Road to Freedom

by Rainmaker221



Series: Long life lived [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 11:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainmaker221/pseuds/Rainmaker221
Summary: Allen sought the Railroad hoping to find an organization that could help, help him find his son, help him get revenge. Instead he found a group hanging to life by a thread, and now he has his part to play, bring them back, make it right. It's going to be a long few months. (part 4 of the "long life lived series")





	1. After Dark

Allen and Piper were on their way to Old North Church. They had been on the move for a while now and haven't said a word to each other. It was an uncomfortable silence to say the least, and usually Allen was comfortable even with uncomfortable silences, but there was something different about this one.

"I feel bad." Allen suddenly confessed, while helping Piper over some rubble.

"Not your fault." Piper mumbled, thinking he was referring to the rubble "you didn't make the buildings collapse."

"Not that, the Railroad." Allen clarified.

"Having second thoughts?" Piper asked, quizzically; Allen didn't seem like the type to have doubts.

"It's a sound tactical move but…" Allen paused for a minute, "I don't believe in the cause."

"You don't believe in Synth freedom?" Piper asked, even more confused. Allen hadn't shown any bigotry towards Nick.

"Abstractly yes," Allen tried to clarify, "Everyone deserves to be free, but I'm not personally invested like they probably are."

"And that makes you feel guilt?"

"I'm using them to find my son. This isn't the Minutemen, I wasn't asked to join. I sought them out and am going to use their resources for my own reasons."

"So you're not going to fight to keep Synths safe?" Piper asked leadingly; she was starting to understand Allen's guilt.

"I will fight, if that's the price I have to pay."

"You're not going to help the Railroad defy and destroy the Institute?"

"What are you getting at?" Allen asked.

"Nothing, just trying to get a feel for your thought process."

"If the Railroad helps me save Shaun, then I'll die for them," Allen answered the earlier question. "Take a bullet for a synth, jump on a grenade for an AI, whatever it takes."

"You'll do fine." Piper said with a nod.

"We'll see."

* * *

"I'm sorry, I need a what?" Allen said holding back laughter.

"Secrecy keeps us alive, codenames help with that." Desdemona justified.

Allen's eyes were bright with amusement, he felt like he was back in kindergarten playing "spy" with his friends

"Alright," Allen gave it some thought, "Call me 'the operative'"

"'Operative'?" Desdemona said, testing out the word.

"No, no" Allen interrupted, still holding back laughter, "'The Operative."

"The Operative." Desdemona repeated.

"I like it." Deacon commented. "Makes it sound like he's some kind of animal 'release the operative'" Deacon joked dramatically.

"Glad you're having fun." Desdemona scolded, "but you're right, he does get to pick his own codename."

"Do I need a code name?" Piper asked.

"No," Desdemona said, "Because you're not joining, in fact, I'd rather you just leave."

"She stays." Allen declared.

"C'mon, Des," Deacon pleaded, "We could use the good press."

"Secrecy is our weapon, the last thing we need is press coverage." Desdemona said, sternly.

"Who says you'll be getting the coverage?" Piper suggested. "I keep anything even resembling Railroad activity secret."

"Then what will you write?"

"I know how to keep a secret." Piper said. She noticed Deacon's disbelieving stare, "Just because I choose not to doesn't mean I don't."

"She's trustworthy." Allen vouched.

"Fine." Desdemona relented. "But If she outs us, it's on you."

"I'll be on my best behavior." Piper promised.

"Good." Desdemona said with a nod, "Deacon will show the two of you the ropes."

* * *

"You're really going to let him do that?" Carrington demanded.

"Hey, if you wanna keep below the Institute's radar you gotta nuke a few blood cells." Tinker Tom said, filling a syringe

"He's injecting you with battery acid."

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened" Allen said with a shrug, rolling up his sleeve.

"When did that happen?" Deacon asked, tossing a ball in the air and catching it.

"Amsterdam 2071, probably." Piper interjected.

"What happened in Amsterdam?" Tinker Tom asked, injecting Allen.

"A lot." Allen evaded.

"If you are quite done indulging Tom's lunacy." Carrington said, "There's a job I need you to do."

"Sure." Allen shrugged, rolling his sleeve back up. Tom left to tinker on one of his pet projects.

"One of our field Agents, Old Man Stockton need's help with a runaway synth H2-22." Carrington explained, before going off on a tangent. "Once again, we have to deal with the problems that everyone else can't be bothered to fix themselves. Paranoid old bat won't even tell us the problem, insists that we get our intel from a dead drop."

"I'm assuming you're a really good doctor." Allen guessed.

"And why would you assume that?"

"No reason, so what's our dead drop system?" Allen evaded again.

"I'll mark it on your map." Carrington said, motioning for Allen to hand him his pip boy, "You'll know it when you see it."

"I'm sure I will." Allen said, standing up. "On a related note, Tom!" Allen shouted, "How long is my blood going to burn for?"

"About an hour or so." Tom answered not looking up.

"Perfect," Allen winced.

"Serves you right." Piper said with a grin.

"Yeah, whatever." He winced again. "Deacon, you coming?" Allen asked.

"Sure, could be fun." Deacon said, adjusting his sunglasses, and grabbing his rifle.

* * *

"So walk me through the process." Allen requested of Deacon.

"Well, we know who our contact is, that's half the job already. We signal them via a code phrase." Deacon explained

"What's the code?" Allen asked.

"He'll ask 'Do you have a Geiger counter' and you respond 'mine is in the shop'"

"Wait, 'do you have a Geiger counter?' Those words exactly?"

"Yes." Deacon said.

"Piper remind me to have a talk with Sam next time we see him."

"I'm not your secretary." Piper objected half-heartedly.

"No, but you are the only one here with a notepad and a pencil."

Eventually, the trio made it to Bunker Hill and found their way to Old Man Stockton's stall.

"Excuse me sir," the old gentleman said, "but might you have a Geiger counter?"

"You know, I used to," The Operative said, "But the damn thing's busted, so I have to pray I don't get rad poisoning while 'mine is in the shop'." He finished pointedly.

"Well, what a coincidence, I have some a shipment coming in. 'Packages' full of Geiger counters." Stockton said, catching on to the ruse.

"When are you expecting to bring them in?" The Operative asked.

"Unfortunately, my 'trade route' is compromised." Stockton said.

"If you want me to, I can clear the route for you?" Allen offered.

"That would be good. There's a church nearby, I'll mark it on your map. My 'contact' will meet you there tonight."

* * *

Allen was climbing in the rafters of the church.

"The Operative?" Deacon called. "What are you doing?"

"I stashed some weapons here a while ago." Allen answered, "If we're escorting a noncombatant to safety we're going to need the extra fire power."

"We're not exactly harmless, Blue." Piper called back.

"Piper, you're carrying a 10mm. And Deacon, not for nothing, but your rifle isn't silence and this is night job. You might as well shoot a flare into the air."

"If you have any alternatives, I'm game." The other man declared.

"Deacon, catch!" Allen called as he threw down a rifle. "Barrett 50cal, silenced for, you know, for when you need to kill a building."

Deacon sang, "Happy birthday to me"

"Piper." Allen threw down two pistols and a tommy gun, then jumped back down to the ground floor.

"What's so special about these?" Piper asked.

"The non-silenced pistol is modified to shoot three round bursts. And a tommy gun is a good all-purpose weapon for amateurs."

"Hey!" Piper objected to the term 'amateur'.

"Piper, I've seen you shoot."

"Fine." She relented with a scowl, "So, what now?"

"Now we wait," Allen ordered. "Take a nap if you can manage."

"Don't mind if I do." Deacon said before stretching out over a pew.

* * *

Night had fallen, and Stockton had arrived with H2-22, now the trio was waiting for their escort to Ticonderoga safe house.

"Is it safe here?" H2 asked.

"Safe enough," The Operative answered, pulling on his skull bandana (he had taken it off so he could relax).

"Oh..."

"It'll be fine, H2" Piper comforted, laying a hand on H2's shoulder, "Right , The Operative?"

"Right," he said, slamming a fresh mag into his silenced MP5, "We'll keep you safe."

A moment later, Deacon called out, "Here's our contact."

A young man wearing a leather jacket came running in seconds later.

"Don't shoot!" He said, holding his hands up. "Deacon," he greeted with the Railroad agent with a nod. "And is this the new guy, heard you cleared the switchboard, impressive stuff."

"Do you have a Geiger counter?" The question was short, followed by the lifting of his rifle.

"Right you are," the man said calmly, "'Mine is in the shop.'"

"I'm The Operative."

"High Rise," The man introduced himself, shaking the Operative's hand

"This is H2-22"

"Hey H2," High Rise said, gently, "how you holding up?"

"A little rattled, but really I've never been better." H2 responded.

"So, High Rise," Deacon interrupted, "How's the route looking?"

"To be honest, rough." High Rise said, kicking at the air. "Raiders, couple of ferals, I'm pretty sure I even overheard some Super Mutants at some point."

Everyone looked to The Operative for advice.

"Alright," he declared, "Our biggest priority is the safety of H2, so we need to walk softly. Use silenced weapons, no talking, and watch your step," he ordered, "High Rise, if things get too hot I want you take H2 and bug out, hunker down somewhere safe, we'll find you."

"Gotcha, boss." High said with a nod.

"Pied," The Operative said, looking towards Piper "Stay close to H2. You and High Rise are his personal guards."

"Can do," Piper said with a firm nod.

"Deacon, you're our advanced scout so warn us if something ugly starts heading our way."

"Uglier than you? Don't think anything like that exists boss." Deacon joked.

"Look in a mirror, you'll find it pretty quickly." The Operative said without missing a beat, "Now move out, step lively but quietly."

* * *

"Why does nothing ever go smoothly?" The Operative grunted to himself, stabbing his arm with a stimpack.

Truthfully, it hadn't started too bad, a couple of raiders, a feral or two. But then they'd wandered within smelling distance of a super mutant hideout and the mutts had sounded the alarm, and soon all hell was breaking loose.

"Deacon!" he shouted, "Give me a sitrep."

"A few more uglies inbound, eight o'clock but that's it." He heard from beside him, Deacon was still using his stealth boy.

"Thank fuck. Give me some suppressing fire, I'll see if I can't find 'em."

"Go get 'em, tiger."

Fortunately, The Operative's objective proved redundant, as by the time he found the mutants, they were corpses and Piper was standing over them.

"Well done," he complemented the reporter.

Piper shrugged. "Amatuer, huh?"

"Is this gonna be another thing held over my head?" Allen asked, pulling his bandana down to show his grin.

"Nah, I think you've learned your lesson about this one." Piper replied, reloading her tommy gun.

* * *

"Wow, you HQ heavies mean business." High Rise said, flopping down on a chair in Ticon safehouse.

"Just doing our part." The Operative said, also sitting down.

"I think I'm going to like you even more than Glory." High Rise told him with a chuckle. "If you ever need anything, Ticon's got you back."

"I appreciate it," The Operative said, standing back up "But we need to report in with HQ." He turned to H2 and clapped him on the shoulder. "Take care, H2, if you ever need anything, let me know."

"Thanks." H2 said meekly.

The trio were walking away from Ticon when the sun started to rise.

"Long night." Piper commented.

"Longer without any coffee," Allen responded.

"So, now that you had the chance to see a bit more of our operations, how do you feel about the Railroad?" Deacon asked. Allen got pensive for a moment before changing the subject.

"You know, Allen Marks is technically already a codename."

"What?" Piper exclaimed.

"When I joined the CIA, they faked my death." Allen explained, "before then I was Nathan Wake." Allen hadn't told anyone that.

"I'm guessing that means the Railroad makes you nostalgic." Deacon deduced.

"Now why would you think that?" Allen demanded, genuinely surprised at the observation.

"No reason." Deacon said, adjusting his glasses and giving the other man a sly grin.

"So, should I start calling you Nathan?" Piper asked, returning to the important part of the conversation.

"No, no," Allen said with a chuckle, "You can keep calling me Blue."

"Alright then, 'Blue,'" Deacon said, "Let's get back to HQ before Des sends a search party."

"Uh uh, you don't call me Blue."

"Fine, 'The Operative', hope you can run." Deacon took off.

"Faster than you." Allen replied, quickly catching up.

"Spies," Piper mumbled with a roll of her eyes before running after them, resigning herself to trailing behind.


	2. Butchers bill

There was a chalkboard in Railroad HQ with "Butcher's Bill" and a list of numbers on it.

"What's a Butcher's Bill?" Piper asked, pointing at the chalk board.

"The casualty count." Allen answered while disassembling and cleaning the 50cal he recently acquired.

"Confirmed dead," Carrington said, pointing at the top number, "presumed dead, and MIA" he finished.

It was somber list, 108 confirmed KIA, 14 presumed, and 1 MIA.

"Tell me about the presumed." Allen requested.

"That's Randolph," Deacon answered, waking up from his snooze. "A couple of our safe houses got hit with the Switchboard. Randolph is the only one we haven't been able to get confirmation on."

"And the MIA?" Piper prodded.

"Blackbird." Desdemona called, from the center of the room. "I refuse to believe he's dead."

"Let him go, Desdemona, we'd lose more people looking for him." Carrington ordered.

Desdemona argued, "Blackbird was one of our best."

"It's been weeks." Carrington reminded her.

"How many weeks?" Allen asked, starting to resemble his rifle.

Carrington snapped, "Too many."

"Has no one sent a search party?" Piper wondered aloud.

"There won't even be a guarantee it would be the same person." Carrington explained. "The Institute has replaced agents before."

Allen slammed a mag into his 50cal and cocked it. "Answers are better than assumptions." He said, standing up. "Deacon, what safehouse did Blackbird operate out of."

"Augusta," Deacon answered, also standing up and stretching. "Stationed out of Kendall hospital."

"Des, does Blackbird have any known bolt holes?" Piper asked, reaching for her own weapons.

"No," She answered, "But Blackbird wasn't the type to go quietly. Look for someplace easily defensible."

"You don't honestly think you'll find him, do you?" Carrington asked incredulously.

"Maybe" Allen answered, pulling on his bandana. "But knowing is better than not," He turned to leave before pausing, "Besides, nobody deserves to be left behind enemy lines."

* * *

Allen slammed the but of his rifle into a Raider's skull before pulling away and putting a bullet in it. He and his companions had spent the last half hour clearing Kendall hospital, Allen had made it to the basement and found nothing.

"Anything?" He shouted to his companions, hoping they'd had better luck than he did.

"Nothing!" Deacon responded.

"Sorry,Blue!" Piper called.

The group's first step was searching Kendall hospital. Nobody thought Blackbird would be there, but maybe he had left a note or something.

"Alright, take five," Allen ordered, pulling down his bandanna "After this we check any nearby dead drops, see if Blackbird left us a note."

"Got it, boss." Deacon said, appearing from nowhere.

"Hey, Blue?" Piper said, dropping down from a low hanging bridge, "That thing you said, about being stuck behind enemy lines, was that from personal experience?" Piper asked, claiming a spot of ground near Allen.

"Long story."

"No need to tell it then," Deacon interrupted. His tone was kind but he was likely glaring at Piper.

"Short version," Allen started again, "I was in Russia investigating a leak we thought was in the CIA. I was posing as a security chief for an ambassador." Allen looked up, as if the script was on ceiling. "Some stuff happened, some more stuff happened, and I end up at the tail end of a full on manhunt with a KGB turncoat."

"And they just left you?" Piper asked, concerned.

"They were supposed to, I got the ambassador to safety and he had the means to access the intel I was sent to retrieve." Allen shrugged and looked at Piper again. "But what can I say, my CO was sentimental, he dispatched another agent, Finch, to get me out of there."

"How'd that go?" Piper asked again; there was curiosity and concern in her voice, but it was innocent enough. Allen only shrugged in response.

"That's enough, Piper," Deacon said lightly, "If he doesn't want to talk about it he doesn't have to."

"I get that, it's just…" Piper protested

"Hey, sleep, shut up, or stop arguing." Allen interrupted. There was a pause, an awkward 30 seconds before Deacon spouted off the first thing that came to mind.

"You ever wish Diamond City Radio played polka?" Deacon grinned widely, very proud of himself. Allen and Piper tried to keep a straight face, but failed, Piper was the first to crack a grin and Allen the first to start laughing. They spent a few minutes in comfortable silence before they got back on the road.

"There's BADTFL office neerby," Allen said pulling on his bandana, "It's a decent place to make a stand. Blackbird might have made his there."

* * *

"Fuck," Deacon said, keeling over the now confirmed to be dead body of Agent Blackbird. "Fuck."

"Now we know." Allen said bluntly.

"Now we know." Deacon repeated, standing up and turning to the exit.

"Shouldn't we bring the body back?" Piper wondered. "He deserves a proper funeral."

"Dragging a body through downtown Boston isn't often done," Deacon refuted, "Bringing him into Old North Church would just arouse suspicion, might even get back to the Institute."

Piper nodded in response.

"Were Blackbird and Des close?" Allen asked.

"Blackbird was good agent and Des respected him, but beyond that no." Deacon answered, adjusting his sunglasses.

"This sucks." Piper complained.

"Yup," Deacon nodded.

"Yup." Allen confirmed. "Let's keep it from getting worse."

"How?" Deacon asked,

"Working on that."

* * *

"Tell me about Randolph," Allen requested of Desdemona, crossing his arms. All things considered, Des took the death of blackbird well, a mumbled "shit," a clenched fist, then on to the next OP.

"Randolph is a last step safehouse out of the Commonwealth." Desdemona answered, pointing at the map. "About half of our packages run through it, usually for no longer than a day."

"Is there any chance it's still operational?" Allen asked.

"Possibly, it's exact location is a closely guarded secret. Only a few outside of those stationed there know it's exact location."

"Where would they leave dead drop messages?"

"Drummer Boy," Desdemona called.

"Anywhere," Drummer Boy said, rushing to the map. "Their runner, 'Little Sis,' is the best we've got, she leaves messages all over the place. It helps keep the location secret."

"If Randolph has been compromised, it's safe to assume they haven't veered too far from home," Allen mused, "What's nearby?"

"Can I see your pip boy?" Drummer requested, "Here's the usual locations," He said as he marked four or five spots.

"What's this about, Operative?" Desdemona ordered.

"The" Deacon interrupted pointedly, "Operative has a plan,"

"And I'd like to know what that is." Desdemona responded.

"I'd rather not leave Randolph with their asses hanging in the wind." Allen answered. "Desdemona, I'm officially requesting permission to investigate Randolph."

"Granted," Desdemona said with nod. "Good luck, Operative."

"The Operative doesn't need luck" Deacon corrected.

There was a click and a snap of a fresh mag being slammed into a rifle, and a bullet being chambered.

"He's right, you know," The Operative said, pulling on his bandana. "Who needs luck when you have skill?"


	3. Guardian Angel

_"Mr. Tims here. Randolph Safehouse was not hit. But do not make direct contact. Repeat: Do not make direct contact. We got three packages, very scared packages, here. Requesting assistance."_

* * *

Of course it had to be University Point, maybe four locations in the entire Commonwealth where you could find synths, and Randolph's route just had to take them past one of them.

"So what's our plan here, boss?" Deacon asked.

"There's no good place to set up a sniper," Allen mused, "So all hands on deck storming this place."

"Wonderful," Deacon said, sarcastically.

"Could be worse," Piper interjected.

"How, exactly?" Deacon asked.

"Could be super mutants."

* * *

"I'll wear your bones around my neck, human!"

"You're not allowed to talk anymore," Deacon joked as he pointed at Piper.

University Point went well enough, however, the next holotape message sent the crew to Faneuil Hall, which was littered with super mutants.

"Focus, Deacon." Allen ordered, taking another shot.

"No, I refuse." Deacon said, before focusing anyway and firing off a round.

"Contacts," Allen observed, siting the new targets, "Down the stairs."

"Grenade out." Piper said, tossing a few down.

"So new business plan," Deacon started, after taking a mutant down with a headshot, "We team up with a mortuary...see where I'm going with this?"

"Deacon, I said focus." Allen reminded.

"I can do both."

"Clearly."

There was a pause, no more mutants were running at them.

"Split up," Allen ordered, "See if the building's actually clear."

One at a time everyone gave the all clear. The crew gathered at the roof, as it didn't smell so bad up there.

"Take five," Allen ordered, sitting down. There was silence for moment before Piper spoke up.

She started, "So, I've got to ask -"

"No," Deacon interrupted, "I will not sleep with you. Not after what happened last time." Piper resisted the urge to slap the grin off Deacon's face, though thankfully Allen gave the back of his head a lighthearted *thwap*.

"What's up, Piper?" Allen prodded.

"I honestly can't remember." Piper answered with a grin.

"Probably wasn't important, then." Deacon said, leaning back.

* * *

Allen was asleep; it was going to be some time before Drummer's runners came back with an update on Randolph. As it was, Allen had ordered everybody to rest and restock on ammo. Allen was taking this opportunity to try to get some shut eye, Railroad HQ didn't have a proper bunking system just "pick a cot and fall in it."

Piper watched Allen as he rested.

"You're going to drill holes in him with the way you're staring," Deacon commented, coming up from behind the reporter.

"I think this is the first time I've seen him asleep without passing out first," Piper observed.

"It's not that interesting," Deacon replied dismissively.

"It's a little interesting." Piper defended.

"Why?"

"You're not wondering how he managed to fall asleep still wearing his bandana?"

"I fall asleep wearing sunglasses." Deacon offered with a shrug.

"If you guys have this conversation every time I pretend to sleep then we're going to have some problems." Allen said, sitting up.

"Sorry, The Operative." Deacon mumbled like a scolded child.

"Don't be sorry, just be perfect." Allen stretched. "Did anything happen while I was pretending to sleep?" he asked.

"No, sorry, Blue."

"Shit," Allen sighed.

"Bathroom's that way," Deacon joked, pointing with his thumb.

"Deacon, I swear to god…" whatever Allen was swearing to got cut off by the approaching Drummer Boy.

"Operative, my Runners just got checked in with me, Randolph needs a location cleared."

"Where at?" Allen asked, gathering his weapons.

"You're not gonna like it," Drummer Boy warned.

"Where is it?" Allen scowled as he reloaded his revolver.

"Gunner's Plaza."

"Fucking hell, really?" Allen threw his hands in the air.

"Sorry, Operative. Wish I had better news."

"Piper," Allen started, turning to the reporter, "Any chance I can convince you to stay here while Deacon and I take care of this one?" Piper's only response was to stare critically at Allen. "Of course not."

* * *

"Here I was going to spend the entire day reading Proust and you just had to go and ruin it." Deacon whined at the Gunners, siting a target and taking a shot.

"I prefer Hobbes to be..."

Allen was interrupted by a brave Gunner with a machete. The Gunner was interrupted again with a dagger to the back of the neck.

"If the two of you could focus," Piper begged, laying down covering fire.

The evening had been going great, they had made it inside the plaza with very little difficulty. Gunners were dying, loot was being found, and so far the only injury was the bruising Deacon had when he underestimated the kickback of a Fatman.

"I need to borrow your rifle." Allen said to Deacon.

"Be careful. Anton Maxwell Rodriguez the third is just a baby."

Allen handed the rifle back after taking a single shot. "You can have it back now." The shooting soon stopped.

"Spread out? Do a search?" Deacon asked.

"Too big of a building," Allen said, shaking his head, "Stay close." The sweep was standard, with only the occasional interruption.

* * *

"You know, I thought you'd be tougher." Glory commented to Allen, who couldn't respond, as he was currently in Glory's strangle hold.

The duo were sparring.

"Glory, if you break the Operative, you're going to have to replace him." Deacon reminded from among the spectators.

"Shit and I was just starting to have fun." Glory said with a sigh, letting Allen go.

"I only lost cause I had to fight fair." Allen complained as he massaged his neck.

"How exactly can you cheat in a fight?" Glory asked, laughing.

"Easy I would have taken out my gun and shot you."

"That doesn't sound very fair." Piper commented from the sidelines.

"You win every fair fight except the last one," Allen recited.

"Who said that?" Glory asked.

"My old CO, Francis Marion."

"Sounds like a nice guy," Deacon commented.

"He had his moments."

From nearby, Desdemona's shout summoned them. "Deacon, Operative, Glory!"

"Whatever you've heard, Deacon started it." Allen said.

"Hey," Deacon objected, "It is at least as much Glory's fault."

"You were the one with the Brahmin."

"What can we do for you, Des?" Glory said, cutting off the squabbling duo.

"I've got an OP for you, Deacon." Desdemona said and handed the man a letter, "You're heading to Covenant. Details are enclosed."

"Fun," Deacon exclaimed.

Desmona looked to Allen. "Operative, I've got another Randolph update for you.".

"Please tell me this isn't another Gunner outpost." Allen begged.

"Hub City Auto Wreckers." Desdemona said with an apologetic grin.

"I think I found out why Randolph is fucked - you keep sending it's runners near the Commonwealth's greatest hits."

"That's why I'm sending Glory with you on this one."

"So, question," Glory said, raising her hand, "What's our budget on this one?"

"Be reasonable, but take what you need."

Glory grinned and walked off to find Tinker Tom.

"Travel light," Allen called out, "No miniguns."

Glory's response was to flip Allen the bird.

* * *

"You have a weird definition of traveling light." Piper said to Glory as they were leaving Railroad HQ. Glory had a massive assault rifle strapped to her back, a machine pistol, a revolver against her boot, and sawed off double barrel nestled at the small of her back.

"I'm a synth, remember?" Glory reminded her. "My bones are built tougher than most people."

"Do you think you're going to need all of that?"

"We're hitting a Gunner outpost. It pays to be prepared."

"That it does." Allen agreed.

"You don't carry much for some with a 'be prepared' frame of mind." Glory pointed out.

"I hide weapons like a squirrel hides nuts. We're never far from something useful."

"Got anything useful near Hub City?" Piper asked

"A missile launcher is stashed at finch farm, does that count?"

"Man after my own heart." Glory said, sporting a large grin.

"Let's not be too eager, I prefer a deft touch when assaulting heavily fortified outposts."

* * *

"I do not make a good backseat operative." Allen mumbled to himself, tracking a target through the scope of his rifle.

He was the best sniper in the group, so he had to cover Glory and Piper's approach to Hub city. It was nerve wracking to say the least, especially considering that Glory's first move was to shoot a missile right into the command center. It wasn't a bad idea, in fact it was a pretty good one, just one that Allen wouldn't have used.

"Glory, if you could stay just a little closer to Piper I'd be grateful." Allen mumbled again. He was still having trouble getting used to the lack of earpieces. Glory was a walking tank, and about as good out from cover, but unlike a tank, she seemed to run off single mindedly.

"Glory, look behind you please."

Glory had managed to lower the crane to the overpass, but didn't secure the junkyard. The result was leftover Gunners. Allen managed to take care of it though. A few minutes and at least one close call later, Glory gave Allen the all clear signal.

"Next time," Allen said to Piper, having made his way to them, "You're on sniper detail."

"C'mon, Blue, you know I can't shoot." Piper complained.

"Don't argue with me on this, I damn near had a heart attack up there."

"I thought things went rather well." Glory commented.

"Your sweep was sloppy, you gave away your position far too early," Allen lectured, "and for fuck's sake, please keep an eye on your partner's position."

"Everybody came out of this smelling like roses." Glory objected, "Don't see what you're complaining about."

"We did, didn't we?" Allen said with a huff, calming down. "Sorry, I kinda panicked there."

"It's alright, you're only human." Glory said, walking away.

"Now you know how I felt," Piper taunted, before following Glory.

Allen sighed to himself. "Fucking fuck."

* * *

"Dunwich!" Allen shouted, "You want me to go to Dunwich!"

"I'm guessing you have an issue with that." Desdemona replied, rhetorically.

"Oh no, I love diving into the most heavily fortified raider encampment in the Commonwealth. I love diving into a mine with only one entrance and no sound tactical plan other than 'pick a god and pray!'"

"This what you do, Operative," Glory said, lighting up cigarette. She reminded him, "Reclaiming Randolph was also your idea."

"Fine!" Allen shouted before releasing on Piper. "You! You're on sniper detail!"

Piper knew better than to argue this time.

* * *

"C'mon," Glory encouraged, taking cover near Allen. "You've got to admit this is fun."

"No I don't have to admit anything" Allen argued, " But It'd be more fun if I didn't have to keep a civilian safe." Allen grumbled as he threw a grenade over his shoulder.

"Who? Piper? She can look after herself." Glory took a shot at a turret that was causing some trouble.

"No, you can look after yourself, Piper has potential. There's a big difference," Allen argued, signalling Piper to take a shot at an approaching raider with power armor.

"You're not the kind of guy who secretly can't stand to work with women are you? 'Cause that's gonna cause a problem."

"Hold that thought." Allen said, shifting positions. He motioned for Piper to come down from her perch. "Do ya think we're clear?" he shouted at her.

"I can't see anyone!" She responded.

"Great, now the mine." Allen said to himself.

"You haven't answered my question." Glory reminded.

"Glory, I'm not a very judgemental guy. People have skills or they don't, and in my experience, a person's parts don't affect their usefulness in the field."

"Works for me."

Soon enough, Piper was with them.

"So what's our plan?" She asked.

"Taking this mine is not going to be easy," Allen started.

"So, all hands on deck?" Glory prodded.

"Unfortunately, no," Allen answered. "We made a lot of noise, and there are lot of Raiders in the area, I need someone here to watch the backs of the breaching team."

"I'm guessing you want that person to be me," Piper said, crossing her arms.

"No, if raiders come back, they'll come back in force. Glory, would you mind…"

"Not at all," Glory cut him off. "Could use a break."

* * *

"Does something feel off about this place to you?" Allen asked Piper.

So far things had gone well enough. Piper had followed orders and not fired a single shot while Allen used the darkness and a silenced gun to keep them hidden. Despite that, something was throwing Allen off.

"No, why?"

"Something feels wrong." Allen said, with a shake of his head. "I'd wish they'd stop digging, this place feels like it's about to come down on us."

"Blue, I don't think they're digging."

"Don't you hear the machines? And the rumbling?" Allen asked, rubbing his ears.

"It's as quiet as the grave here."

"You probably just can't hear it." Allen dismissed. "You will soon enough." Allen nodded to himself.

"Maybe we should head back." Piper offered soothingly.

"It's fine, Piper." Allen nodded again. "I'm fine, you'll hear it soon enough."

She didn't. They cleared out all the raiders and found no active digging equipment. Only a chained off door and graffiti saying "Safe in the Light."

"Blue, I think we should head back."

"Piper, you can't hear that?" Allen asked, starting to sound frantic.

"I don't hear any digging,"

"No, no, it's something else now."

"Blue, we should head back."

"It sounds like...chanting, singing. I can't make it out."

"Blue, you're scaring me."

"There's something down there, and if we don't find it someone else will."

"Blue…"

Without another word, Allen unchained the door, opened it, and walked through it.

Piper continued to beg him. "Blue, we don't have to do this."

"I think I can make it out." Allen said, tilting his head, "Abdul...Alhazred. Does that name meen anything to you?"

"It means we should head back!" Piper shouted, which was not a good idea, as soon they heard the guttural moans of ghouls.

There were a lot of them, more than there should have been with raiders in the area, but Piper was able to handle it. Allen's aim seemed off somehow.

"Piper." Allen said, stopping dead in his tracks, "I don't mean to alarm you but I appear to be hallucinating."

"That's it, we're going back," Piper ordered, grabbing Allen's arm.

"NO!" Allen growled. "We're close, I can feel it."

Allen took off, leaving Piper in his wake. Piper would have panicked but there was one path, and he wasn't being subtle

"Where are you Abdul? What do you want? Alhazred! Show yourself!"

When Allen and Piper ran out of mine to descend, there was a shrine, and a pit of water.

"I need to go down there." Allen said, frantically shrugging off coat.

"No, Blue, you really don't!" Piper pleaded, angrily.

"Whoever Alhazred is, they're dangerous I need to stop them." It was a frantic declaration.

"Blue!" Piper shouted, at the top of her lungs, "That's enough!"

A strange look of clarity crossed Allen's face. He sat, cross legged, on the ground.

"Piper, I need you do something that you might not feel comfortable doing."

"What is it?" Piper demanded, reaching for her gun.

"On the side of my neck are two veins. If you close them, I pass out. Try not to clog the windpipe or I die."

"Blue, I'm not gonna…"

"I can still hear it, Piper. Abdul… Alhazred...Abdul… Alhazred…"

Piper walked behind Allen and felt for the veins.

"Use your bicep and forearm." Allen ordered.

"I'm sorry, Blue." Allen likely would have said something, but he was soon unconscious.

* * *

Allen was twitching madly. He had been still, for the trip back, Glory left her weapons at a settlement and carried the man back to railroad HQ, and almost the moment he fell onto a medical cot he started to twitch.

"Is there something you can give him, doc?" Piper asked.

"He is already sedated. I don't know how anything else would react with what's already in his system."

"There's nothing in his system," Piper argued.

"Something caused this," Carrington said, matter of factly. "I doubt it was magic, which only leaves chemicals. He'll recover soon enough now that he's no longer exposed to them."

"Then why didn't I hallucinate?"

"It doesn't matter," Desdemona interrupted, approaching the group, "What matters is whether or not my agent is going to be ok."

"As I said, it was environmental, he'll be fine soon enough." Carrington recited.

"And if he isn't?" Piper wondered aloud. A hushed silence fell over the room.

"He'll be fine." Glory reassured everyone. "He might need a couple of easy days, but he'll be fine."

"How do you know?" Desdemona asked.

Glory shrugged. "Guy like him, probably been through worse."

"You didn't see him." Piper said softly, reaching to grasp Allen's hand.

"But I can read him," Glory defended herself, "The guy was pre-war military. I saw some records in the Institute, the soldiers back then we're tougher than anything the Commonwealth can spit up."

"I hope you're right." Piper said solemnly.

"I know I am," Glory said, walking up to the still twitching form of Allen, "Ain't that right, Operative." She gave the man a light punch to the shoulder, "You're a tough old bastard."

Allen woke up a few hours later. His first request was an obvious one.

"Water."

Piper gave it to him before being pushed out of the way by Doctor Carrington.

For half hour Carrington conducted a physical making sure that Allen was in working condition.

"Are you hearing any voices besides mine?"

"No."

"Are you feeling any head pain?"

"A slight throbbing, nothing unexpected."

"What's the last thing you remember."

"Piper apologizing for knocking me unconscious."

It went on, and other than the monotone Allen spoke with, there was nothing to get worked up about.

"Desdemona," Carrington said, pocketing his stethoscope, "It is my medical opinion that 'The Operative' is fit for duty."

"Thank you Carrington, dismissed."

Carrington nodded, and walked away.

Desdemona sat next to Allen, who had elected to lie back down on the medical cot.

"Is everything alright, Blue?"

"I'm fine," Allen said, dismissively. "I just need to get back in the saddle is all."

"Luckily for you," Desdemona told him, pulling out a holotape, "Randolph has another target, Backstreet Apparel. Know it?"

"Been there once before, small place," Allen mused mostly to himself.

"I'm sending Glory with you." Desdemona ordered.

"It's not that bad, I should be able to handle it." Allen objected, half heartedly.

"She's not backup," Desdemona clarified. "She's going to evaluate your status, see if you can still be an asset to the Railroad."

Allen nodded and stood up.

"I can understand that."

* * *

Other than an absurd amount of silence, Backstreet was fairly standard. The group worked their way through the store and onto the roof where there was a shockingly comfortable couch.

"Take five," Allen ordered, yanking the bandanna off of his face as if it were suffocating him.

Everybody sat and waited. Piper watched Allen stare pensively out over the countryside.

It was well over five minutes before he finally spoke.

"I dreamt." He said, almost as if it were a confession. "I don't know if you're supposed to dream when unconscious but there I was."

"What did you dream about?" Piper asked, cautiously. She didn't want to pry, but she felt like Allen wanted to talk about it this time.

"It's strange." Allen said, staring down, "When I have bad dreams, I usually dream about the things I've done: Moscow, Prague, Kiev." He said those words like it was a chant. "I should have nightmares about that, I really don't have any right to be haunted by what's been done to me." Allen stood up, stretched, and sat back down.

"I shouldn't close my eyes and see the men who gave me half my scars." Allen rubbed a fade one along his jawline, "I shouldn't sleep and remember…"

"Stop it." Glory interrupted. Allen and Piper turned to stare, "There'll come a time when you need to stare down the skeletons in your closet. But not now."

"When?" Allen asked.

"When you're strong enough to beat them."

"When's that?"

"When you're not afraid to tell people," Glory answered, "'Cause I can tell right this moment that you're terrified that we'll know the truth and walk away, and even though we know better, you don't. So wait until you're not afraid."

Allen nodded a few times to himself, rubbing at his wrist.

Piper, who didn't really know what to do, reached over a clasped Allen on the shoulder.

Allen was silent for a few moments longer.

"So, what are you going to tell Des?" he finally asked, pulling his bandanna back on.

"That you need a good night's rest, maybe a day off or two, but that you'll be fine."

* * *

Allen made a beeline for Carrington when they returned to HQ.

"Got any sleeping pills?" he asked, adding softly, "the non-addictive kind." Carrington nodded and handed the man two pills and glass of water.

Meanwhile, Glory and Des were speaking in hushed whispers.

"He'll be fine." Glory assured the other woman.

"Are you sure?" Desdemona asked, watching Allen make his way to a cot.

"He's a tough bastard, this won't stop him."

"I hope you're right."

"Have I ever steered you wrong, Des?"

"We'll see," Desdemona said, "Times like these we can't afford to lose a miracle worker."

"What do you mean?" Glory asked. "He's damn good but I wouldn't call him a miracle worker."

"Here," Desdemona handed Glory a holotape. "Listen to that and tell me what you think."

* * *

_"This is Mr. Tims. Randolph Safe House is secure, Randolph routes are secure, packages are away. Awaiting next instructions. And pass on my thanks to our guardian angel, I'm raising a glass to him tonight."_


	4. Covenant

Marion once told Allen that spies needed to obsess over details, because whether it's a dead drop or danger, either can be signaled by a single out of place detail.

Not so subtle details can also tip one off that something wasn't right, like Piper kicking Allen's ass whilst sparring.

"You all right, Blue?" Piper asked, helping Allen up.

"Just got a lot on my mind," Allen responded, massaging his neck.

"Does it have do with…" Piper trailed off, figuring it would be a good idea not to say "Dunwich."

"No, but it certainly isn't helping."

"What is it, then?" Piper prodded.

"Bad feeling," Allen answered cryptically.

"That's specific."

"Piper, if I knew I'd tell you, I promise. But something feels out of place." Allen stared over her shoulder at the hustle currently buzzing around Railroad HQ.

"Des seems particularly busy today." Piper observed.

"Do you think something's wrong?"

"The optimist in me says we're paranoid."

"And the pessimist?"

"Wonders why we haven't seen Deacon in a while."

"And here I was hoping it was just me."

Allen and Piper watched as Desdemona nodded solemnly at Drummer Boy, who nodded back, before turning to the attendance chalkboard, and erasing Deacon's name.

"The fuck are you doing?" Allen demanded, striding up to Desdemona.

"We got word back from Honest Dan, Deacon's missing." Desdemona explained, staring blank faced at the map of the Commonwealth.

"How many fucking miracles do I have to perform?" Allen asked, "Let me look for him."

"You've been compromised," Carrington interjected nearby. "We can trust neither your judgement nor your abilities.

"Nonsense!" Allen shouted, "I'm fine!"

"Pretend that he said that without shouting," Piper added.

"I'm trying," Carrington said.

"Des," Allen pleaded, "I know that this isn't your idea."

Carrington scathed, "Unlike you, she seems amenable to wisdom."

"Des," Allen started, "You're like my old CO, you know the cost, you know the risks. You also know what your agents are capable of. You know that Deacon's alive and I can find him."

"Why would she do something as foolhardy as that?" Carrington demanded. "Why risk more lives for one man?"

"Because she cares," Allen said. He did not shift his gaze away from Desdemona.

All of HQ had gone quiet. Des was staring at the map, Allen and Carrington were staring at Des, and everyone else's eyes were split between the three.

"Deacon's mission hasn't been finished," Desdemona started, apparently having come to a conclusion. "It's entirely likely that his OP is what put him in danger, and someone needs to finish it. The Operative is as good of an agent as anyone." She went on to reason, "And if in the course of his investigation, he should find Deacon, then he will be welcomed back."

"How do we even know it will still be Deacon?" Carrington asked.

"We'll just have to trust him."

"But…"

"That's an order, Carrington," Desdemona interrupted, "and for the record, I don't appreciate your insubordination," she said, turning on the good doctor "I don't appreciate that your idea of wisdom involves abandoning people, leaving them behind. That's not wisdom, Carrington, that's cowardice."

Piper whispered to Allen, "Remind me not to fuck with Desdemona."

"As long as you remind me."

* * *

"So, what's the job?" Piper asked Allen, who was currently scrolling through his Pipboy, which contained the details of said job.

"Remember Stockton?"

"Yeah."

"One of his caravans went missing." Allen explained, "It disappeared near Covenant, a settlement near the river."

"This doesn't sound like a Railroad matter." Piper pointed out.

"There are mitigating factors, the largest of which is that Stockton's daughter was with the Caravan."

"I'm not complaining, but why does the Railroad care?"

"His daughter is a synth." Allen said, eyes widening; it appeared as if he too had just learned that piece of information. "That explains a lot."

"Ever wish the Railroad helped more than just synths?"

"Why?" Allen asked, seeming untroubled by Pipers question, "The Commonwealth has the Minutemen to deal with other threats."

"I know, but they have all these resources and they use them to help such a small group of people." Piper said, trying to justify her trepidation, "It's a noble but narrow cause."

"We all have our role to play." Allen shrugged, "this is the Railroad's."

"I like rolls with butter." Piper joked.

Allen stopped like he'd been struck. Looked down, then back at the sky.

"Imma be honest, I don't like puns." Allen said, before taking off at a sprint.

"Are you pun-ishing me?" Piper shouted.

"Yes!"

* * *

"This is going to end us finding a bunch of people locked up and tortured," Allen said, "I'm calling it right now."

Allen and Piper had just entered Covenant. The SAFE test had been weird but otherwise harmless.

"That's a leap." Piper responded.

"I'll explain later, let's just find Dan." Allen ordered. "Look for anyone out of place."

"There," Piper said, directing Allen to the armed gentlemen wearing armor rather than prewar clothing.

"Dan?" Allen said, walking up to the man and extending his hand "Allen Marks. Stockton requested that I assist you."

"I hope you're more forthcoming than the last guy." Dan said, shaking Allen's hand. "He answered everything with a joke. I almost know less now than when he showed up."

"What do you know?" Piper asked.

"Since the last guy went missing, all I know for certain is that the caravan came here, and that these people are hiding something deadly."

"Most of them probably don't know." Allen mused, "It's easy for three to keep a secret if two don't know."

"Who said that?" Dan asked.

"I did, before me an old friend."

"Where did the last guy start looking?" Piper asked.

"Well…" Dan started.

"Oy," Allen exclaimed. "If we go down the same steps Deacon did we end up in the same trap."

"So what's you plan?" Dan asked, crossing his arms.

"Fuck off," Allen snapped, "I need to think. I'll get you when I start looking."

"I'll be at Deezer's if you need me." Dan shrugged and walked away.

"Guy has thick skin," Allen observed, "I can see why Stockton likes him."

"Blue, is something wrong?" Piper was worried about Allen he was usually more level headed than this.

"Something is very wrong." Allen answered, "Everything about this place makes my skin crawl."

"It's too clean but other…."

"It's that test," Allen interrupted. "Do you know what eugenics is?"

"No, what's that got to do with anything?"

"Eugenics started as a mostly harmless belief, people with chronic diseases, people with a birth defect, something that could be given to a child,are people who shouldn't breed."

"Sounds harsh." Piper commented, "But still missing the point."

"Harsh, but logical. It was meant to protect the next generation. Children free of disease, of disabilities." Allen finally stopped by a tree in the center of Covenant, but he started turning in place. "The belief was polluted, turned into racism and hatred. And during World War Two it became responsible for the deaths of six million Jewish people."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Piper demanded, exasperated.

"Harsh as it is, polluted as it is, it had its roots in science. We just took a psychological test, a half assed, half baked, still in its infancy test, but a test nonetheless."

"They wanted to see if we had the right qualities," Piper deduced, "If we fit their psychological 'eugenics.'"

"I'm just wondering what would have happened had we failed," Allen said, turning in place again, "I doubt it would have been as simple as a 'please leave.'"

"Do you think Deacon failed?"

"No, he made it in remember?" Allen pointed out, he started motioning with his hands, like he was a conductor keeping time. "His investigation led to his death."

"Wait, you think he's dead?" Allen came to a full stop.

"Either I'm right or I'll be pleasantly surprised," Allen started circling again.

"So what do you think he found out?" Piper asked.

"Something dangerous."

"Where do we start?"

"With what Deacon knows." Allen answered, cryptically.

"How? It's not like he left a note."

"Did you see any heavily armed guards," Allen didn't give Piper a chance to respond, "No. So whatever got him killed, he went to it, now if Deacon is half the agent I am, and realistically he's at least three fifths, he'd have left a drop in case he didn't come back."

"So that whoever came next would have some warning," Piper concluded. "So where would it be?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Allen said. "Tell me about Deacon."

"You know him better than I do."

"Just do it."

Piper shook her head and threw her hands up. "He's a smartass, always telling jokes."

"But smart jokes," Allen continued, "Proust, mortuaries, these things aren't common anymore."

"So he probably didn't leave it in a mailbox." Piper added.

"What else?"

"He's dedicated to the Railroad."

"Which means he knows that somebody might be sent after him, he also knows it would probably be me."

"So it will be personalized." Piper added, "Like a letter, from him to you."

"And since we know shit about him it will be about me." Allen said, getting excited. "What does he know about me?"

"Everything," Piper replied, "You told me about how he listed your career like a poem when you first met."

"Yeah but what specifically. He drew attention to my time as the Shroud, but how does that translate to a dead drop"

"Maybe a poster," Piper suggested

"Too obvious, nice town like this probably won't have pre-war posters." Allen started to tilt, the spinning making him dizzy.

"Why are you spinning? "Piper demanded, reaching out to steady him.

"Helps me think," Allen said, suddenly going quiet, before shouting, "Think!"

"Blue?"

"Find Dan," Allen ordered taking off, "Bring him to the general store."

* * *

"Allen, what are you doing?" Dan asked.

Allen was bustling through the shelves of the general store,

"Deacon didn't just know about my career, he knew it was me. Piper's written about my exploits," Allen paused as he turned over a few boxes of cereal, "but she uses fake names. As far as the Commonwealth knows, 'The Castle' was retaken by…" Allen motioned at Piper.

"George Washington," she supplied and Allen stopped dead in his tracks

"Really?" Piper just shrugged. "Stupid codenames aside, there's only handful of people who know of what the 'General' has personally done, and even fewer who know he's also a Brotherhood Knight."

"Wait, hold on," Dan interrupted, "You're Brotherhood?"

"And even fewer people that know that both of those 'people', also happen to be the Silver Shroud." Allen concluded.

"Hold up…" Dan said, trying again.

"It's best that we just let him do this." Piper said, derailing Dan.

"So Deacon doesn't just know about me," Allen continued, "He knows me, he's been following me. And what's something that's never been hidden but isn't exactly common knowledge, something I was dealing with literally until the day I met the Railroad. Something," Allen finally found what he was looking for, "that would help me think." Allen held up a pack of mentats.

"How does this help us?" Dan asked. Allen flipped over the pack, revealing the Railroad call sign for 'dead drop'.

"Let's give credit where it's due," Piper said, almost in reverence. "He's at least three quarters the agent you are.

Allen paid for the mentats, took three steps out of the store, and popped the tin open. After tossing the pills into a nearby bush, Allen found a note in the tin.

"What's on it?" Dan asked, looking over Allen's shoulder.

"A drawing looks like the river and a pipe. Plus, two words 'Mayor,' and 'Compound" Allen handed the note over to Dan. "Any of this mean anything to you?" he asked

"I know the spot on the river," Dan answered, "But this 'compound' is news to me."

"Go stake out the spot," Allen ordered, "Take Piper, I'm going to go have a chat with the mayor."

"Blue," Piper said warily.

"Don't worry," Allen reassured her, "I don't plan on killing him, might lie profusely though." He said it like it was an afterthought.

* * *

Dan and Piper were staring at the sewer pipe along the river as though it had personally offended them.

"So, this friend of yours…do you still think he's alive?" Dan asked, not breaking "eye contact," with the pipeline.

"We'd have heard the gunshots," Piper answered.

"Not that one, the other one, the funny one." Dan clarified.

"I'm an eternal optimist." Piper answered.

"Really?" Dan exclaimed, a little surprised.

"Is it that big of a surprise?"

"Honestly, yes." Dan replied, finally breaking his stare, "I read that paper of yours, nobody tries to do that much good without seeing most of the bad."

"I've seen a lot of good happen, too." Piper pointed out.

"Most of it in the last few months, I'm guessing."

"What makes you say that?"

"Honestly, it's as simple as common sense. The downfall of the Minutemen, the hypocrisy of Diamond City, the push that raiders seem to be making," Dan listed. "Good things have been in short supply until recently. How did you keep you your head up?" Piper was quiet for a little while. Dan was right, there had been some bad days, some bad enough to make her want to quit, but she liked the paper, liked what she did.

"Something my dad once told me," she finally answered, "'Everybody is one very eventful day away from being a hero.'"

"I'm going to need some clearing up on that," Dan said.

"It means that all people are capable of doing good," the duo heard from behind them. Apparently, Allen was done with his business with the mayor. "Most of them just need the right kind of motivation."

"So what's your motivation, Marks?" Dan asked.

"You first."

"Honestly, I'm just a loyal employee, I've got all the reason in the world to stand by Stockton, and none to abandon him."

"As good of a reason as any I suppose." Allen mused.

"And you?"

"Just trying to do right by my family." Allen answered, dismissively.

"So what did you find out?" Piper asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

"More than I feared, less than I hoped. I managed to convince the mayor to radio ahead, give us a chance to see what the compound is made of. "

"What do you think we're going to find there?" Dan asked.

"A whole lot of ugly."

* * *

"So, the one investigating Stockton's caravan has arrived." Doctor Roslyn Chambers said, not looking away from the corpse on her table. "Tell me, what do you think of my masterpiece."

Truthfully, Allen wanted to retch. He'd been imprisoned in gulags more humane.

"I think I need some answers." Allen replied, crossing his arms.

"You're going to listen to her?" Dan whispered.

"Only to see how far she's gone."

"Let me pose a question to you - what would you do if your family was destroyed by a synth?" The Doctor asked. "Would you roll over and accept it? Or would you fight back?"

"How is Covenant fighting back?" Allen asked, maintaining his composure.

"As long as the institute can walk invisibly among us, we are vulnerable," Doctor Roslyn explained, finally looking up from the corpse, "I have dedicated my life to devising a test that can root them out. Expose them so that they might be eliminated."

"Is it working?" Allen demanded, waving off Piper's concerned look.

"The test is in it's infancy, but through sacrifice and perseverance our success rate is improving."

"And what is your success rate?"

"At the moment it is four or five false positive per synth" A strange light came into Allen's eyes at the statement. "But someday I hope to improve it to two or maybe even one false positive."

Allen took two steps forward, and reached into his coat.

"Doctor Chambers, I'd like to thank you for making this easy for me."

Allen pulled out his Makarov and promptly shot Champers point blank before turning the gun on the security personnel in the room.

"Watch the door," Allen ordered, "I'll free the prisoners." He took off to the cells.

"For a moment there I was worried he'd gone off the deep end." Dan said, pulling out his own weapons.

"I know she was a monster, but did he have to gun her down like that?" Piper asked, in shock.

"She was long gone," Dan replied, "No coming back from that."

Suddenly, an alarm went off.

"Sorry!" Allen called. "They rigged the cell doors."

"How long do you think until they realize we're the problem."

A gunshot sounded, and sparks flew near Dan.

"Ten seconds ago," Allen said, moving to the final cell. "Hold 'em off I've almost got the last door open."

Allen looked through the cell to find a young girl.

"Amelia?" He asked.

"Y-yes" the girl answered cautiously.

"I'm a friend of you father, I'm here to take you home."

"Oh thank god," Amelia said, rushing out of the cell door as soon as it opened.

Allen scanned the room.

"You wouldn't happen to know about a friend of mine, would you? Bald, on the older side."

"There's another area, I don't know where," Amelia replied softly. "They blindfolded me."

"Thanks." Allen nodded a few times. "Dan!" He suddenly called out, herding Amelia towards Dan and Piper. "Think you can get Amelia to safety?"

"Honestly, this couldn't be easier." Dan said, reloading his revolvers.

"Take Amelia. Get her home," Allen ordered.

"I can do that," Dan nodded before reaching out to shake Allen's hand "It was an honor working with you."

"Same."

When Dan had taken the girl and gone, Piper asked, "Do you know where Deacon is?"

Allen deflected the question. "Piper, I need you to follow Dan out and then go find Sam. He's probably at Greentop Nursery."

"Blue, what's your plan?" Piper demanded, worried.

"Don't really have one, I have a goal and rough approach." Allen took out a stealth boy and turned it on. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Oh great." Piper muttered to herself.

* * *

There were few things in the world Allen hated more than a mad scientist. It wasn't the trail of bodies they left in their wake, it wasn't delusions of grandeur, it wasn't even the hope that they inspired in their followers. No, it was the tempting logic. A psychological test to root out third generations synths would be useful, even for the Railroad.

But as Allen tore his way through the compound, uncovering every broken tortured soul, learning of the horrifically ineffective methods the Compound was using to create an ineffective test, he became sure of his decisions. The price was too high, and just when Allen was resigning himself to fact that his friend might have paid that price too, Allen found him. Of all the things to say, Allen just asked, "Geiger counter?"

"In the shop." Deacon croaked out.

"Found these on my way," Allen handed Deacon a pair of sunglasses.

"You do care." Deacon declared, as dramatically as he could. "I knew you'd miss me."

"Only with every bullet so far." Allen pulled Deacon over his back.

"Good to see you, The Operative."

"Good to see you too, buddy."

* * *

"Has the General gone off the deep end yet?" Sam asked, following Piper's lead.

"I don't think so." Piper answered.

"Damn, there's a pool going." Sam had done a relatively good job of remaining quiet over the course of their trip to Covenant but now that the community was in sight he was back to his normal self.

"You have a pool going about the general?" Piper asked incredulously.

"Numerous, best stop talking about it, one of them involves you."

It was also best that they stop talking because they had arrived at the gates of Covenant.

After letting themselves in, the Minutemen squad was struck by overwhelming silence.

"Covenant was home to at least a couple dozen people, it shouldn't be this quiet." Piper mused, taking tentative steps through Covenant.

"If the general's killed everyone, I'm out a hundred caps." Sam complained.

"Now's not the time." Piper admonished.

"It's always the time for bad jokes." Sam declared, rounding a corner to find the source of the silence.

Seemingly all the residents of Covenant were corralled into the same corner of the community, while Allen kept watch over them, weapon in hand.

"Glad you could make it." Allen greeted, not sounding particularly glad at all.

"What's going on?" Piper demanded.

"Are you having another episode? Preston told me you were done with those." Sam commented.

"I'm not having an 'episode'," Allen denied, "and to answer your question, Piper, what's going on here is a testament to my restraint."

Allen started to pace among the crowd of settlers.

"That's the theme of today," Allen began, "Restraint. To be perfectly honest, I'd be able to kill you all right now and probably sleep very well tonight." Allen briefly made eye contact with Piper. "But luckily for all of you, I found my friend, a little roughed up sure, but alive. As I'm in a especially jolly mood, I'm not going to systematically execute you for your crimes."

"We didn't do anything!" A particularly brave settler called out, "We didn't know about the Compound we swear."

"That's kind of the problem," Allen said casually, "anybody with any sense would know that something about this place is messed up, but none of you," Allen's tone took a dark turn, "Not fucking one thought to look into it! Not one person decided that this was a little too good to be true, and walked away." Allen calmed down, "But who can blame you? It's a dangerous world, someone comes along offering you safety, comfort, food. Who are you to say no?" Allen returned to the front of the crowd. "That's your crime, willful ignorance and apathy. The sentence, of course, is banishment from covenant."

If there were a time for anybody to object that would have been it, instead there was a meek "But where will we go?"

"Anywhere," was the answer, "Lieutenant Sam here will be offering escorts to nearby settlements. But you can go anywhere as long as it's not here."

They could have complained, could have rioted, fought back. But they didn't, maybe they were smart, maybe they were scared, but all they did was form a single file line before Sam. One resourceful young lady asked to join the minutemen, Sam (being the kind guy he was) only made a moderately crude joke before allowing her a chance to join the good guys. Piper and Allen spent some time watching the proceedings, before growing tired and walking away.

"Thirsty?" Allen asked Piper.

"A little bit, why?"

"Found out about this local bot, Deezer, apparently he serves lemonade."

"Don't you need lemons for that?"

"My lemonade tended to start as a powder."

* * *

"So, since you'd be the authority," Piper said to Allen as they walked away from Deezer, "does this actually taste like lemonade?"

"Is this actually what you want to talk about?" Allen asked, taking a swig, "Aren't you just brimming with curiosity?"

"I figured you'd tell me when you were ready." Piper answered, shrugging.

"I found Deacon, he's resting right now. I 'persuaded' a doctor into helping me patch him back up. The Compound was as bad as it looked, probably a little worse, and I'd rather not discuss the details." Allen recited, finding a place to sit, and sitting with a dramatic groan.

"What do you want to discuss?" Piper said.

"Is a comfortable silence too much to hope for?" Allen requested, taking a deep draw from the lemonade.

"I can try but it won't last long."

"It tastes like the kind of lemonade kids sold on their front lawns." Allen returned the focus to their beverages.

"How did that start as a powder?"

"You know I don't actually know, nobody ever properly explained it to me, and I was never curious enough to ask."

"I've always wondered about the old world." Piper trampled, trying to veer focus from all the bullshit they'd had to deal with lately. "Like, what was baseball, and was it actually as dangerous as Moe makes it sound."

"Well I don't know what Moe has said," Allen continued, playing along, "But if he made it sound dangerous he was doing it wrong."

Marion once told Allen spy's needed to obsess over details, and if Allen had been paying attention he'd have noticed a few things.

He'd have noticed Sam walk into the room Deacon was staying in with a purse full of caps, and walk out without it.

He'd have noticed that, despite being surrounded by reminders, he'd managed to go an entire few hours without thinking of Nora, Shaun, his future, or the future of the Commonwealth.

Maybe he'd even notice that this was the friendliest he and Piper had ever been since he put on the mantle of Shroud.

But today was his day off, and he didn't notice shit.


	5. Night out on the Town

Why are we here exactly?" Deacon asked Allen.

The duo were at the Third Rail. Allen managed to convince Desdemona to give them the night off and Piper was convinced that Deacon needed a "spy's night out."

"Because," Allen answered, sliding Deacon a shot of vodka, "after the second time I was kidnapped and tortured I realized that a blackout night of drinking made for a good precursor to 'healthy' healing."

"I'm fine," Deacon insisted, "maybe you're the one that needs a night off."

"What makes you say that?" Allen evaded, downing his shot like it was water.

"Des told me about Dunwich."

"See, we both have reasons to get shitfaced." Allen justified as he poured himself another drink.

"Fine," Deacon relented reaching for his glass. "I thought I was the fun one."

"You will be, for at least another hour or two," Allen reassured, "I've been informed that I am quite the fun drunk."

A half hour later and the warm, pleasant part of a night of blackout drinking hadn't started yet. The mood was still somber.

"You know, I'm a little jealous of you," Deacon admitted, taking an annoyingly small sip of his drink.

"If you wanted spy lessons, all you had to do was ask." Allen joked.

"I'm serious," Deacon said, "some people back at HQ are jealous, word got around about your big nap."

"I fail to see how that would inspire jealousy."

"The thing is," Deacon clarified, "The world you knew is gone, as are all the people. So, if you mess up you don't put your friends and family in danger."

"Oh yeah," Allen remarked, with an almost excessive amount of sarcasm. "My wife dead, my son kidnapped, everything I ever believed in burned away to ash, my life is one big jackpot."

"Oh shit," Deacon said, realizing what he'd stepped in, "that's not what I meant, it's just that if the church gets busted you don't put more people in harm's way is all."

"Don't put sprinkles on this and call it ice cream." Allen snorted, downing another shot.

"I'm a little jealous of that to." Deacon said, cautiously.

"Explain."

"You've lived a life," he justified, "you have those memories, people you cared about."

"And you don't?"

"I'm a synth, a botched job no less" Deacon explained, a somber expression coming over his face, "They failed to give me the nice memories most synths have."

"So what kind of memories do you have?"

"None." Deacon said, throwing back a shot, before scowling at his glass.

"Didn't they program a failsafe?" Allen asked, "Someway to get back your original memories?"

Deacon laughed. "Ain't that a thirty-cap thought for someone half drunk."

"Oh please," Allen scoffed, "I'm barely tipsy. And you still haven't answered my question yet."

"A code phrase. It'll bring back all my memories of the Institute." Deacon finally answered. "Here." He slid a folded up piece of paper towards Allen.

"You're trusting me with this?" Allen asked, disbelieving.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't?"

"No, I'm just surprised is all." Allen backpedaled. "You don't seem like the trusting sort."

"I'm trusting, I just like verifying too." Deacon explained.

"I'll drink to that." Allen said, pouring another shot.

"We're drinking to a lot of things tonight, aren't we?"

"Well then how about a proper toast, before getting properly drunk?" Allen suggested.

"I don't know any toasts," Deacon admitted.

"Well here's one." Allen stood up and began his toast "To a long life and happy one, a quick death and a fun one, a good girl and honest one, a cold drink and an alcoholic one."

"Are you already drunk?" Deacon joked.

"Gimme forty-five minutes."

* * *

When Allen woke up the following morning he had to go through what he called, "the tenth grade" protocol, named for the first year he got blackout drunk.

Whenever he woke up in a place he didn't remember falling asleep, he'd go through a checklist to make sure he was safe and unharmed.

The first item was to make sure he was wearing the same clothes he last remembered wearing and the second item was to make sure he was in a safe environment. Things tend to branch off from there, other items included: was he in a bed with someone, where was his gun, where was anyone who might have seen him in the blackout period.

On this particular morning, he woke up on the roof of the old state house, thankfully fully clothed.

First priority was finding his way off the roof; fortunately, Allen's tendency to curse, an open window, and Hancock's surprisingly good hearing solved that problem.

"Shroud?" Hancock asked, holding back laughter, "What are you doing on my roof?"

"I'm sure it's a good story," Allen answered, trying to keep his balance, "but I don't remember it."

"Ah blackouts, what a bitch to deal with," Hancock reminisced, leaning on the windowsill.

"Can you help me down?" Allen begged.

Hancock shrugged. "Sure, why not."

* * *

"This is extremely unprofessional behavior, unbefitting men of your station!" Carrington lectured.

Allen and Deacon managed to stumble their way to Old North Church, although in hindsight they should have stayed in Goodneighbor for another day.

"Can you whisper?" Deacon requested.

"No!" Carrington shouted.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Allen asked Deacon, electing to ignore the shouting Carrington.

Deacon groaned out, "You saying something about last night being just like one time in Amsterdam 2071."

"Was that before or after you ran off, yelling about a Mr. Handy disguise." Allen asked as the pair shambled about HQ.

"Before, I think, 'cause I don't remember that."

"What happened in Amsterdam?" Glory asked from nearby. She (like Carrington) was speaking at a louder tone than appreciated. "And was it as bad as what I'm looking at now?"

"I don't remember," Allen replied, "And back then I had coffee to help me survive."

"What's coffee?"

"Currently the only thing I'm willing to commit murder over."

"Was it worth it?" Carrington demanded, abandoning all pretenses and blatantly shouting.

Allen stopped for a moment and patted his pockets, eventually finding the recall code Deacon gave him. He nodded a few times before answering.

"Yup."


	6. Moscow December 3rd 2072

Agent Marks could hear Sergei Ivanov's speech. He tried not to pay attention to it, but it was a good one.

"This world is on a path of death and destruction."

Sergei Ivanov was a Russian ambassador to England, famous for his ability to make peace and come to mutually beneficial agreements.

"The Americans see us as thieves and murderers, and we see them as oppressors."

He was currently giving a speech at an anti-war rally in Moscow, give him ten years and a million more supporters and he could make a real, tangible difference in the world.

"We are both right. The Americans watch as we take and take from nations that cannot fight back."

It's too bad that he would never get that chance.

"And we watch as the Americans tip every scale in their own favor. There is no equality for them even within their own nation."

As it was, Sergei Ivanov was being blackmailed.

"To be able to stop this century long cycle of violence, we must prove that we are more than we appear."

The Chinese were forcing Sergei to drop bugs, download viruses, and expose British agents.

"If we start, if we are the first to choose peace, then maybe they will follow."

It wasn't his fault; the Chinese were threatening Sergei's parents. If he failed, they died.

"But if not, then we will finally have the true moral high ground."

Sergei was offered witness protection. But he knew as long as the Chinese thought he was alive, his parents would be dead.

"And that high ground is worth all the sacrifices in the world."

So it was that the CIA decided to erase all doubt, namely in the form of a bullet. One that would soon be fired from the fifty-caliber rifle lying by Agent Marks' side.

"Thank you, Moscow, and let us never lose our high ground."

As Sergei Ivanov's speech ended, so did his life.

* * *

No parent should have to bury their child, but sometimes they do, and when they do they tend to handle it in different way.

Mikhail Ivanov went numb for a while, lived his life on autopilot, eventually he crept out of his shell and started living again. He was never the same, but eventually he found something resembling normality.

Sofia Ivanov became obsessed with finding her son's killer. Eventually she kicked over enough stones that she attracted the attention of the CIA. She didn't know anything, Allen Marks' cover was too deep for anyone, even the KGB, to unravel.

But pity is a powerful force, and eventually Marion took pity on Sofia Ivanov. So, he arranged a meeting.

It was late, and Sofia Ivanov was just arriving home. And Agent Marks was waiting for her, wearing the same skull mask he was wearing in the one photo law enforcement managed to find of him. He was sitting idly on a cushion chair, the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other.

"I hope you're not looking for justice," he said to the woman, his voice disguised. "Because I have no intention of letting you kill me, or of submitting to the authorities."

Sofia was ragged, bags under her eyes, hair wild, and thin, as though she hadn't eaten in days or properly at all in months.

"I just want answers." Sofia said, setting down her bag. She had been hardened by her losses. She had lost her son and her marriage, so as scared as she should have been, she wasn't. Not even a little bit.

"Answers are harder than justice, you can shoot me to get one."

"That's surprisingly meaningful coming from a murderer." Sofia accused.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know." Sofia admitted.

"What do you want to know?"

"Why did you kill my son?" she demanded.

"I was ordered to."

"Is that it?"

"Is there more?"

"I want to know why!" Sofia shouted. "I want to know what's in your head. How you can sleep at night -"

"Try to be more specific."

"What went through your head when you shot him?" Sofia asked.

"I was worried about the breeze. There was wind that day, it was idle but changing directions, I didn't know how it would affect my shot."

"That's it?"

"I'm a weapon, Ms. Ivanov, I am given my orders and I carry them out."

"Are you truly so heartless?" Sofia demanded, her voice finally cracking "Did you even know him? Know his heart, the good he was capable of?"

"I did."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was ordered."

"That can't be it! There has to be more to my son's death than that."

"There likely is, but I can assure you that knowing the answers wouldn't help."

"You don't get to decide that for me." Sofia said.

"Then ask your questions, I will try to answer them."

Sofia stood before her son's murderer; she had the chance to have all the answers she'd obsessed over for nearly two years, but she was drawing too much of a blank.

"You see, Ms. Ivanov, answers are hard to find, but even when you can have them all, it's hard to ask for what you really want to know."

Sofia went quiet with that; she wanted answers about her son's murder, but if she couldn't get that, then answers about her son's murderer would have to suffice.

"Who are you?" Sofia asked.

"If I wanted you to know that, I wouldn't be wearing a mask."

"Why do you do what you do?" Sofia demand, sitting down.

"Because I can."

"That's not a reason." Sofia argued.

"Isn't it?"

"No, it's not." Sofia said, steadfast.

"Everybody is born to do something, I am born to kill. It's what my hands were made to do. So, I found someone to work for, and carried out my orders."

"Why do you work for the people you do? Because they let you kill?" Sofia asked.

"It's more complicated than that. I don't enjoy what I do, Ms. Ivanov, but it's what I'm supposed to do. I have no choice but to fulfill my role."

"Everybody has a choice," Sofia said, "And you chose to kill my son - to kill a peacemaker, kill a good boy." Sofia stood up, "You chose wrong! So, next time you have a choice, choose right!"

"I follow my orders, Ms. Ivanov."

"Get out." Sofia snapped. "A bastard like you has nothing I am searching for. Get out."

Agent Marks stood and walked to the door before stopping.

"Be well, Ms Ivanov." Agent Marks said, his voice no longer distorted.

And then he left.

* * *

Life went on, Sergei Ivanov's name became associated with the peace lovers of Russia, but it was also used as an example of how reluctant many were to embrace that peace.

Agent Marks always wished he could say he was changed by his meeting with Ms. Ivanov, but looking back… as Agent Marks is found of saying "It's more complicated than that."


	7. Born on Monday

It was nighttime and at the moment there were three very restless people still up - a former CIA agent who didn't need much sleep, a synth who slept too much earlier, and a Railroad agent who didn't like sleep in the first place.

To pass the time, the former two were sparing and the latter was keeping score.

"So, how does the Railroad compare to the CIA?" Glory asked, throwing a haymaker at Allen.

"The real difference," Allen started, pausing to grimace at the pain required to stop Glory's haymaker, "Is the scale of things."

From the sidelines, Deacon asked, "How so?"

"With the CIA everything was bigger," Allen answered, circling Glory. "The budget, the manpower, the…" Allen was interrupted by a jab, which he caught and used to throw Glory off balance and onto the floor, where he put his foot on her back.

"Let's call that your win," Glory admitted with a groan, "Deacon, what's the score."

"3 to 4, Glory's lead."

"Nice, anyway," Glory said, turning her attention back to the Operative. "You were saying?"

"The stakes were higher," Allen finished. "With the CIA, we weren't just worried about a particular group or even an entire city. The whole world was at stake."

"Every OP couldn't have been that important." Deacon protested.

"No, but my discovery would be," Allen clarified. "Nothing in that world was more game changing, more powerful, than an operative close to their nation's inner circle."

"Where you really that important?" Glory asked.

"My type was," Allen said, taking a swing from a bottle of water, "I was somewhere between rookie and inner circle so I knew enough that if anyone found out I was CIA, it could be problematic."

"To say the least." Deacon finished.

"Yup." Allen nodded.

"Sounds like it." Glory added.

Allen yawned.

"Getting tired there, old man?" Glory teased.

"Oh no," Deacon proclaimed with a toss of his hand, "The almighty the Operative has fallen."

Allen just yawned again, admitting, "We all gotta sleep."

* * *

"I can't believe you can eat those," Piper said, sitting next to Allen, who was starting his day eating Salisbury steak.

"Really?" Allen asked, incredulously, "This seems perfectly in character."

"Okay, let me rephrase," Piper said with a roll of her eyes, "I can't believe anyone would eat that."

"I can't believe you're eating two-hundred years old Sugar Bombs," Allen motioned to Piper's choice of breakfast. "They have got to be stale by now."

"It's not that bad." Piper tossed a couple back like they were shots, "Besides they're sweet, I like sweets."

"I've noticed." Allen remarked casually.

"Are you implying something," Piper accused, half joking.

Desdemona called out, "Glory, Operative, front and center."

"Saved by the boss," Allen mumbled, heading over to Desdemona.

"The two of you have a message." Desdemona explained.

"Who from?" Glory asked.

"What's the OP?" Allen asked.

"No OP, and Dr. Amari."

"What's going on?" Glory demanded, "Is it G5-19?"

"Is this about Curie, is she okay?" Allen rushed out, almost tripping over the words.

"Yes and Yes," Desdemona said, having trouble keeping track of the two separate conversations. "She was a little vague on the details, just requested that the two of you meet with her at the next opportunity."

"We're ready now." The two said at the same time.

Allen called to the reporter, "Piper, we're going to Goodneighbor."

Allen and Glory (with Piper trailing closely behind) were soon out the door, leaving a bewildered Desdemona in their wake.

Mostly to herself, Desdemona asked, "I should just give up on keeping them in line, shouldn't I?"

"Don't worry, Des," came the unwanted answer from Deacon, "I still love ya."

"Deacon, I will make you clean out the bathrooms."

"Threat acknowledged, shutting up."

"So, who's G5-19?" Piper asked Glory.

"It's a long story," Glory said with a sigh.

"Now you sound like the Operative," Piper whined, thinking that Allen was out of earshot, as he was currently manning the perimeter.

"Oi!" came the objection.

"It's true," Piper replied before turning back to Glory, "Seriously, what's up?"

"G5 and I escaped the Institute together," Glory explained, "She was tough little bitch, but scared. The Institute did its job well, making her afraid of it. So, she elected to get the mindwipe."

"Did something happen?" Piper asked cautiously.

"Something went wrong, she's catatonic." Glory said, staring down, "You know it happens, I don't blame anybody for it, but it's been hard to give up hope on her getting better."

"Yeah," Piper said with a nod, "I guess I can get that."

* * *

"You want to what?!" Glory shouted.

Curie explained, "I wish to download my consciousness into a human body, so that I might have the spark of creativity that all humans possess. Dr. Amari tells me this is possible with what remains of G5-19."

"I got that part," Glory scathed before turning on Amari, "What I don't get is why you're sanctioning this, we're supposed to protect synths, not kill them."

"Glory," Amari said calmly, "she wanted new memories. These are just different ones, better ones."

"No, No! I'm not gonna let you kill my friend!" Glory turned sharply and stormed off.

"Glory," Piper and Amari called after her.

"I fear I have upset her," Curie said.

"What tipped you off?" Allen asked.

"The yelling," Curie answered.

"And here I thought it was the storming off."

Piper admonished him. "Blue, be nice."

"Well, what did you expect?" Allen asked, exasperated.

"I am uncertain of my expectations," Curie answered, "It was my hope that she would be willing to further science."

"He was being rhetorical, Curie, and rude." Piper said, glaring at Allen.

"Mr. Marks…" Amari started, gearing up for a lecture.

"Look," Allen interrupted, "I'm all for this procedure, but you have to realize how this sounds. You're asking her to give up on her friend. That's not nothing."

"So what are we to do?" Curie asked, sounding as desperate as her programming could allow.

"I'll talk to her," Allen said. Piper opened her mouth but before she could say anything, he cut her off. "Don't argue with me on this."

Piper's mouth closed like somebody had snapped it shut.

Allen found Glory sitting on a bench in Goodneighbor's plaza. She was hunched over, hands clasped together and her forearms resting on her knees.

"I'm not discussing it," she snapped at Allen when he approached. Allen rested his hands on the back of the bench and rocked on the soles of his feet.

"On February 12th 2077," Allen reminisced, "at 2:22 A.M, my son, was born."

"What's that got to with anything?" Glory demanded, still looking down.

"It doesn't. You said you didn't want to talk about it, so we're not," Allen said before getting back on topic, "Literally a week before Shaun was born, I was in London, investigating threats of a terrorist attack alongside MI-6 and Interpol." He sprouted a wide grin. "Just three days before Shaun was born, I helped stop said attack. The estimated casualty count would have been catastrophic, at least half the population of London, if not more." Allen's grin widened even further. "It was the proudest moment of my career. But it was absolutely nothing compared to just a few days later, when I first held Shaun in my arms."

Allen walked around the bench and sat next to Glory.

"That sounds nice." Glory said, looking up.

"It was the greatest day of my life." Allen, nodded. "Now here's the thing, if G5 -"

"I thought you weren't going to talk about it," Glory accused.

"Glory, I lie more than Deacon," Allen said, "If G5 is half the person you seem to think she is, then she's twice the person I am, and she would enjoy giving someone else the gift of life ten times more than I did."

"She'd be a walking trashcan," Glory argued, "We escaped the Institute to avoid that."

"Curie is just a robot," Allen told her, "Now, G5 would be giving her a chance to be a real person, with real emotions, and real life that she can decide for herself."

"I don't know," Glory mumbled to herself.

"Think on it, it's a big decision."

"To say the least."

* * *

"Do it, do it now before I change my mind." Glory snapped when she arrived back at the Memory Den.

Amari plugged Curie into the memory lounger where G5's shell lay and moved over to her terminal.

"Right then," the Doctor said to herself before addressing Curie, "Curie, terminate all non-essential operations."

"Affirmative," Curie said; her robot body collapsed a moment later.

"Easy," Amari said, carefully tapping only a few keys at a time. One moment and a loud beep from the terminal later, she added, "A connection is established."

"Is that it?" Piper whispered to Allen, who just hushed her.

"Beginning download," Amari mumbled, "Downloading successfully begun."

"So how long should this take?" Piper asked.

"Usually it would take only a few minutes, but with the sheer amount of memories Curie has, it might take couple of hours, maybe more. I recommend going upstairs and finding something to eat."

"I'm going to the Third Rail," Glory declared, "I need a drink."

Piper and Allen watched Glory's retreating form.

"Go with her," Allen instructed, "Make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble."

"I can do that." Piper said before running off.

Allen sat on the couch and put his feet up.

Amari was quick to scold him, "Get your feet off my coffee table."

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

Piper and Glory were still out when Curie woke in her new body. It was not a graceful awakening.

"My chest," she cried, gripping the chair of the lounger like she was welded to it. "What is happening?"

"It's breathing," Amari answered, popping open the lounger. "It's an autonomic function, just let your body do what it must."

"Relax," Allen suggested, reaching out to clasp Curie's hand "Take a few deep breaths, breathe in and out on the count of three."

"I have a few questions for you," Amari said, circling around to face Cure. "Just a few, to establish the download happened properly."

"Of course, madam," Cure replied, her breathing slowing.

"What is your name?"

"My designation is: contagions vulnerability robotics infirmary engineer. Or Curie," she recited and the process seeming to calm her.

"Good," Amari nodded and grinned, "Now what is one plus two?"

"Three, it is elementary," Curie said, starting to smile.

"Damn," Allen joked, "And here I was certain it was twelve."

"You surely jest with me, Monsieur Marks," Curie admonished.

"Of course, Curie."

Curie shifted her gaze to Allen. "My name, it sounds so different with these ears," she observed softly. Amari coughed to regain Curie's attention.

"Curie, I need you to think of a memory, whatever comes to mind," Amari commanded gently.

"I remember…"Curie trailed off. "Doctor Burrow!" She exclaimed a moment later like some eureka moment. "He was the last of the scientists in Vault 81. He was on his bed and so very weak. He reached out to me and said, 'Curie, you must…' but he died before he could tell me."

Curie closed her eyes. "What is this peculiar feeling, my insides, they feel heavy."

"Grief," Allen answered, running his thumb along Curie's knuckles, "you lost a friend, and for that you feel grief."

"This unit has no friends." Curie said woefully.

"Had," Amari corrected, "Now, you have me, Piper, and Mr. Marks, for whatever he's worth."

"Oi!" Allen objected.

"In fact, I believe you will be worth a great deal."

"It's not easy being human, emotions are powerful things," Amari cautioned, "you only had a taste as a Miss Nanny unit."

"Surely, it cannot be so bad." Curie said.

"Trust me, Curie, you have a long road ahead of you." Amari told her.

"To say the least," Allen continued, "But like all long roads, it starts with a single step. Or, in your case, standing up."

"Yes, of course." Amari reached for Curie.

They helped the new synth stand, and watched in restrained amusement as she quickly fell.

"So sorry," Curie apologized needlessly, "My legs feel like gelatin."

This, Allen thought, would be fun.


	8. Finding a place

Curie's arrival at Railroad HQ was comparable to a puppy being brought home. She was adorable, innocent, fascinated by the simplest things, and more of a responsibility than most people realized.

Curie needed to learn quickly and she had no shortage of teachers.

Dr. Carrington taught her how to do the procedure's she had always known, but this time with human hands.

Tinker Tom was teaching Curie about engineering, not her favorite subject but, as Curie said, "The pursuit of scientific progress cannot be limited by bias."

Piper was teaching Curie how to use her new human senses. Apparently, Miss Nanny units lacked a proper sense of smell, taste, touch, and most things, really.

Even Desdemona was roped into helping Curie become human, teaching the new recruit about things like philosophy; Desdemona was surprisingly well versed in the works of Thomas Hobbes.

Eventually, Curie's teachers had to have a discussion about one the most important questions being posed - teaching Curie how to fight.

* * *

"I don't know man," Tinker Tom said reluctantly, "She's too good, ya know, teaching her to kill seems...perverse."

Curie was, for whatever reason, not a part of this conversation, though she had made her feelings clear - she wanted to see the world, she wanted to help.

"It's her decision, Tom." Piper argued.

"Her skills are better served as a scientist," Carrington reasoned, "We cannot distract her from that."

"She's not gonna survive out there without any training." Glory declared, crossing her arms.

"She might not survive out there even with training," Allen said grimly, causing everybody's eyes to turn to him.

"Care to clarify?" Desdemona said.

"Curie spent most of her life as a nearly indestructible robot." Allen explained, "She lacks the survival instinct everyone born into this wasteland has."

"What are you getting at?" Glory asked, "We should keep her here, not let her leave?"

"Of course not," Allen responded. "But I want to keep everyone grounded, let's not get lost in the potential here."

"Okay," Desdemona started, "Carrington, you want her to stay a medic, correct?"

"Yes."

"State your case, best case scenario, what do you hope to accomplish?"

"I want to expand Railroad operations," Carrington gushed, "Thus far we have relied on luck and secrecy to keep us alive. If someone like Curie gathered enough data, we could find out more about the institute via the synths we've found scavenging. Maybe enough to use as a weapon."

"That's ambitious," Piper warily said.

"If we get discovered again, we're done for. We need more."

"But -" Piper was interrupted by Desdemona.

"Glory, you are in favor of training Curie, correct?"

"No shit."

"Same question I posed Carrington." Desdemona motioned for Glory to speak, clearly this debate's moderator.

"We need another Heavy," Glory said simply, "We're losing people all the time, even if we get actionable intel, there's no saying for certain we'd have the resources to act on it."

"Putting her into the field seems wrong," Tinker Tom objected, "She wants to help not fight."

Glory frowned. "Fighting helps."

"That's enough," Desdemona said. "Operative, state your case."

"Ideally, Curie's time with us would be temporary." Allen started but was cut off by Carrington and Glory.

"She's too useful…"

"If you honestly think…"

"Enough" Desdemona almost shouted, "Clarify, Operative."

"Curie is ill-suited for tradecraft," Allen explained, "Can't lie to save her life. And we don't have the time to get her ready to be a Heavy."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Desdemona prodded.

"We train her, teach her, and bring her into the field with someone who can keep her safe. After she's found her baring, we find a place for her to call home."

"And if she decides to call the Railroad home?" Piper asked.

"We'll burn that bridge when we get to it."

"I thought it was 'cross that bridge,'" Piper wondered aloud.

"You have you methods, I have mine." Allen joked, trying to lighten the mood. Regardless, everyone was looking to Desdemona for guidance.

"The fact of the matter is that no matter what path we take," Desdemona started, "Curie is, at least, in for basic training." The woman dropped her arms to her side and stood up a bit straighter, "So, Operative, I'd like for you to train Curie as you see fit until we can come to a consensus on what to do next."

* * *

Curie was currently disassembling and reassembling a laser rifle for the 8th time

"Monsieur Marks, I do not see the rationale behind this exercise," Curie said. Usually, Allen would interpret such a statement as complaining, but complaining didn't seem to be in Curie's range yet.

"When you were Miss Nanny, your weapon was a laser, correct?" Allen led, also disassembling and reassembling his own arsenal.

"Oui, monsieur."

"And it was connected to rest of your unit, correct?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"Familiarity is key to combat," Allen lectured, "Your weapon must feel at home in your hands."

"Perhaps I should give my weapon a name." Curie mused.

"If you'd like."

"Do you name your weapons, Blue?" Piper, who was also participating in this exercise, asked.

"No," Allen said, snapping a bolt into place, "now quit the chit chat and focus."

"I think I shall name him, 'Diagnosis.'" Curie said, cooing at the rifle.

"Great," Allen said, rolling his eyes, "When you finish with your differential, why don't you follow me to the shooting range." Allen's tone was harsher than Curie was used to, but not harsh enough to give her pause.

* * *

"Reload and fire again!" Allen shouted, "C'mon, c'mon raiders aren't going to be polite enough to wait."

Curie fumbled with a new cell; she brought it all the way to the slot before remembering to eject the old one.

"Hold up!" Allen called, before letting his soften again, "Focus, Curie, everything has to happen at the right time."

Curie apologized profusely. "Sorry, sorry."

"Don't apologize, just calm down, " Allen said as he reached for Curie's rifle. "Watch me."

Allen ejected the last fusion cell, "The nifty thing about laser weapons is the latch, you don't have to physically remove the cell, the latch holding it place does it for you." Allen went on, "So eject, reload, and fire." He started to shuffle side to side along the firing range. "A laser is pinpoint accurate, so whatever you're pointing at is gonna get hit. The downside is that it's easy to track. After a few shots, even a dumb raider will see you, so keep moving."

"What if there is no where to move to?" Again a question that most people would have asked with attitude instead of curiosity.

"That's when you trust your team to do their jobs." Allen handed Curie back her rifle, "Now focus."

Curie took a deep breathe, and emptied a cell into the targets.

"Better," Allen complimented her, "Now reload and do it again, this time faster and better."

* * *

Curie and Piper were currently doing pushups, Curie for training, Piper because Curie needed a training buddy.

"Can synths even grow muscle mass like this?" Allen asked Glory from the sidelines.

"I don't know," Glory said with a shrug, "why is she even doing this?"

"Discipline," Allen said simply.

"How's she doing?" Glory asked.

"Is that concern I hear? Glory you've gone soft." Allen teased.

"I just want to make sure all this isn't for nothing." Glory replied, "It's my friends body, I don't want you breaking it."

* * *

It was after a week of target practice, weapons training, even hand to hand combat drills, that their progress reached a standstill.

Desdemona wanted answers.

"She's a prodigy, only has to be shown something once," Allen tried to explain, "But she still lacks that killer instinct, she's soft."

"So what do you suggest?" Desdemona demanded.

"If we had all the time in the world, I'd suggest throwing somebody like my old drill sergeant on her."

"Clarify."

"Somebody to break her spirit, somebody that would take away everything she had as an individual and turn her into a member of a unit."

"Can't you do that?" Desdemona asked.

"I was a spy. We worked, trained, and lived as individuals."

"Well, we have neither your drill sergeant nor all the time in the world."

"So give us an OP," Allen suggested. "I'll take her out and run her a bit, see how she handles it."

Desdemona thought for a moment and mused, "Tom does have some sensor's he wants to put in place..."

"It can't be routine." Allen objected.

"Why not?" Desdemona asked, exasperated.

"We need to put her through her paces, strain her skills. If it's simple then we won't know how she handles the stress."

Desdemona sighed and started pacing around the map table.

"Do you know what's at this location?" Desdemona asked, finally pointing out a seemingly random spot in Boston.

"No, why, what's there?"

"Absolutely nothing special," Desdemona said, "Which is why we need it."

"Why?"

"We're looking to set up a new safe house, we have enough people willing to man it, we just need the right location."

"This sounds fairly routine," Allen pointed out, confused.

"It's an alleyway fortified by raiders. Scouts say that there are over a dozen raiders holding out in there. No way to approach without being seen." Desdemona explained, sounding grim.

"Okay," Allen said, nodding, "Anything but routine."

"It's tough, but PAM says that it's the location least likely to be identified by the Institute."

"Who's PAM," Allen asked.

"Come back with good news and I'll introduce you," Desdemona evaded with hardly more than a sly grin.

* * *

Agent Marks and Curie were on a rooftop a few houses away from the aptly named "Hangman's Alley." Agent Marks and Curie had been watching the raiders through binoculars, trying to get a feel for their routine.

"Nervous?" Agent Marks asked, taking the Binoculars from Curie, and peering through them.

"Of course not, monsieur," Curie said, "I am with you."

"Don't rely on me today, this is a test. Remember that." Agent Marks reminded.

"I will do my utmost, monsieur." Curie assured, checking her rifle just like she had been taught. "What is our approach?"

"I'll cover you approach on sniper detail," Agent Marks said, handing Curie the binoculars. "I'll be able to keep you relatively safe until you enter their fortifications."

"What then?" Curie asked, her brow furrowing into the lenses.

"I'll make my way to you on foot. I'll be as quick as I can, but you're going to have to be on your own for a while." Curie quickly pulled the binoculars away from her face. A look of concern quickly fell over her features.

"This does not sound safe, monsieur." Curie said, not scared, not paranoid, just observant.

"If it was safe, it wouldn't be a test." Agent Marks said curtly. The edge faded from his voice. "Curie, we don't have to do this. We can pull out, regroup, get reinforcements."

"No monsieur," Curie shook her head, "You were correct, this is a test, and I must prove myself." Curie stood up, and made her way to the fire escape.

"Hey, Curie," Agent Marks called, "Remember to breathe."

"I need not remember, monsieur, it is an autonomic function is it not?" Curie asked, confused by the reminder.

"Never mind." Agent Marks said, setting up his rifle, "Just get going."

* * *

Allen was right, Curie was on her own after breaching the raiders' wall.

She tried to remember her training, but she panicked and fired a few wild shots, before being pinned behind some sorry excuse for cover.

Allen was right, she never felt more alone in her life.

A bullet pinged right near her foot, she tried to pull it in closer to her, but there was no more space behind her cover.

Curie didn't know what to do, she knew she should move, she knew she should shoot. She remembered what each little instruction was, but all at once... So many things...so many feelings... her heart was heavy…. She couldn't breathe… she couldn't think… was this the...panic attack… where was monsieur Marks... too many feelings… too many thoughts...

_"Remember to breathe."_

Like a car, Allen's last warning slammed into her. So she took a deep breathe. And all of sudden the world slowed down.

She was pinned. She had to fix that.

_"Grenades are useful when you're pinned. Turns the gaze. When they're distracted, they die."_

The grenade did turn the raiders' gazes, but they were still there, and she still had to deal with it.

_"Always aim for the enemies closest to you, they have the best shot."_

What now? What now? She knew there were still raiders, but where were they?

_"Eyes are for shooting, not searching. Listen - footsteps, gunshots, shouting. Know where they are before you look."_

She could hear four different shooters, but she couldn't get a clear shot.

_"Moving is tricky. When you have to move, move fast, and know where you're going. You improvise, you die."_

She found new cover and sprinted towards it. She'd be able to get a clear shot.

_"Never hesitate. Take your shot, quickly."_

She was safe after that, the raiders were dead, and it occurred to her that she should probably check.

_"Watch you six, check your corners, you get careless, you die."_

A raider she hadn't seen slammed her into a wall. She let out a yelp as he shoved a knife against her throat.

"You're a screamer," he growled, a wolfish grin spreading on his face, "I'm going to take my time with you."

He would have if a bullet from a .50 cal rifle didn't interrupt him by getting rid of the head his grin was plastered on

_"Trust your team."_

Curie collapsed into Agent Marks, silent sobs wracking her, and relieved tears running down her face.

_"Combat is hell on the nerves, when it's over, it's okay to cry."_

* * *

Once again, the more prominent members of the Railroad were meeting to discuss Curie's place in their organization. And once again, Curie was absent.

"This is Curie's decision," Piper, who was sitting on the counter, complained. "I don't see why she can't be here for this."

"Curie trusts me," Allen, leaning against the same counter Piper was sitting on, said, "She wants to help and she trusts that I'll give her the chance to."

"Are you?" Glory asked. Allen sighed, scratched the back of his head, then recrossed his arms.

"How did she do?" Dr. Carrington asked, though it was to no one in particular.

"The job got done," Desdemona answered as she stared down at the map of Boston before her, "So as far as I'm concerned, she's ready."

Deacon piped up at her words. "According to The Operative's report, the job wasn't without it's hiccups."

"That's just inexperience," Desdemona dismissed, "She'll learn on the job."

"Should she though?" Allen wondered aloud.

"What's that mean?" Piper asked.

Allen pushed himself off the counter. "The facts are: Curie did exceptionally well for someone with little to no applicable combat training, nothing she did wrong can't be fixed with experience, and she's volunteering to help."

"That all seems like a good reason to make her a Heavy," Glory deduced.

"Since when has the Railroad been concerned with facts?" Allen shook his head.

"Since always." Dr. Carrington answered.

"Really, cause the facts say we're all crazy."

"What are you trying to say?" Deacon prodded.

"We're idealists," Allen said, throwing his hand into the air, "Always have been, it's why we do what we do." He made his way back to the counter, "And here we have something unique, someone smart enough to change the world, to bring back so much of what was lost." His audience grew pensive, considering the idea. "But she hasn't been broken by the world. She's still innocent and pure, and she still thinks that she can save the world with medicine and kindness."

"So what do you suggest we do?" Desdemona asked.

"Keep her safe, send her on some throw away ops, always with me," Allen's gaze snapped to Piper who was staring at him indignantly, "and Piper, of course."

"We can't do that forever," Glory pointed out.

"I have a few ideas," Allen assured them all, "It'll take some time though."

"Carrington, thoughts?" Desdemona looked to the doctor.

"Things have slowed down since the Operative's arrival," Carrington admitted. "As long as it's not a permanent shift of resources, I don't object."

"Deacon?"

"I'm just wondering if we can find a doctor's coat," he joked.

"Deacon," Desdemona warned.

"Fine, fine" Deacon threw his hands up in surrender, "Tom's been on my case about his MILA's, it's not a bad idea."

"All in favor of the Operative's proposal?" Desdemona asked.

At varying speeds, with Allen being the first and Glory the last, everyone raised their hands.


	9. Trust your Team

Deacon, Curie, Piper, and Allen were all staring at the monorail car as it dangled from its perch on the highway.

Deacon peered into the train warily. "Did Tom really say he wanted it in the front of the car?"

"He said it was the only way for the surveillance add-ons to work," Allen answered.

"Well, hop to it," Piper suggested, half-heartedly clapping.

"Why me?" Deacon asked.

"It might be dangerous," Piper responded, "You two are the super spies." She waved her hand at Allen and Deacon. "I'm just a reporter."

"Anything dangerous is going to be behind us," Allen argued. "The only danger in there is poor coordination."

"I will do it." Curie volunteered, snatching the tech from Allen's hands and disappearing into the monorail.

"Hey! You're not going alone," Piper called before following her, leaving Deacon and Allen standing awkwardly.

The duo stood in silence, facing opposite directions as to effectively keep an eye on damn near everything on and off the roof they were currently located atop.

Evidently electing to break the silence, Deacon complained, "They just made us look like sissies."

"Speak for yourself." Allen said, giving a half chuckle.

"Hey!"

"I'd be right in there with them," Allen assured him, "But somebody's got to look after your acrophobic ass."

"I never told you…"

"You didn't have to," Allen interrupted, still holding back laughter. "Are you seriously afraid of heights?"

"It a common enough fear," Deacon sniffed, standing up a little straighter. "Besides, why would I fake something like that?"

"I don't know," Allen responded knowingly, "Why would you fake being a synth?"

Usually Deacon would double down on being caught in a lie, but he could tell the jig was up.

"How'd you know?" Deacon asked. "Was it the lie about the memories? I know you've met Amari so I worried…" He trailed off with a shrug.

"Nope," Allen said, grinning smugly.

"Did you see me go under the knife for my latest bout of plastic surgery?" Deacon demanded, "Cause that's my 'me time.'"

"Nope." Allen popped the "P" sound.

"Alright I give, what is it?"

"This," Allen took out the recall code Deacon had lent him, "Is not a recall code. It's a motto. They don't make motto's into recall codes. It's just a bad idea."

Deacon floundered. "Maybe we're not as smart as you think we are."

"That's how a person gets killed. Underestimating their opponent," Allen explained, flicking the paper at Deacon. "Besides, the life you live in, someone's bound to say 'you can't trust everyone' eventually."

"Fine, fine, you got me," Deacon relented, raising his hands in defeat. "Maybe I'm just some guy with people back home he wants to protect. Or maybe I'm just a compulsive liar."

He shrugged.

"Whatever the hell," Allen said, finally laughing, "You're good in my book." Deacon gave a few genuine chuckles before sobering up.

"Here's the thing, man, that code I gave you. It's more than just a motto, it's a hard truth." Deacon lectured, not seeing the grin starting to grow on Allen's face. "You have no idea who's an informant, or a replacement."

"So, trust no one?" Allen asked and the sarcasm practically made a whooshing noise as it flew over Deacon's head.

"That's the thing. If you trust no one, then you've got no one at your back and you end up dead," Deacon said, building up a nice head of steam. "The bitch of a problem is actually knowing the ten percent of people who have got the knife for your back."

"Fair enough," Allen admitted with a shrug, "But, uh, Deacon?" He finally turned to face the other man.

"Yeah, boss?" Deacon responded, looking over his shoulder.

"CIA, remember?" Allen reminded him, pointing at himself. "I've been working the tradecraft since before your grandfather was a fetus."

"It's still good advice," Deacon mumbled, trying to pout, but his wide grin gave him away.

"Oh, my sweet summer child." Allen chided, or tried to at least, before the two operatives burst into laughter.

"Hey, I've got plenty to teach you," Deacon said between bouts of laughter.

"Yeah," Allen responded, losing the ability to laugh audibly and instead letting out breathy gasps. "About plastic surgery, tell me, Beverly Hills, is a boob job next on your agenda?"

"I don't know what that means." Deacon admitted, which only set Allen off on another round of laughter that forced him to literally lean on the monorail car for support.

"What did you do to him, Monsieur Deacon?" Curie asked as she appeared from the car.

"Tradecraft humor," Deacon answered, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand."

"You all right, Blue?" Piper asked, staring slightly bemused at the usually serious man.

"Yeah, yeah," Allen said, wiping his eyes. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"I see you ladies have had a good time." Piper scolded, "Weren't you supposed to be watching our backs?"

"I haven't laughed that hard in ages," Allen declared, ignoring Piper, "Thanks, Deacon, I needed that."

"Glad to be of service." Deacon said, starting towards the door, also ignoring Piper and her half-hearted scathing remarks about him "servicing" a Deathclaw

* * *

"Next round's on me," Allen offered his table, "What're having?"

The operative and his merry band of misfits we're in Goodneighbor having a celebratory drink for a good run of MILA's being set up.

"I'm sticking with water," Deacon announced.

"Nuka cola," Piper said, raising her nearly empty bottle

"I would like Nuka Cola, as well," Curie requested politely.

"C'mon, Curie, try something alcoholic," Deacon encouraged her, "It's a part of the human experience." Curie looked to Allen for confirmation, who shrugged in response.

"Then I would like to try a Rum and Nuka Cola," Curie decided. "With plenty of cherries please," she added as an afterthought.

"I'm pretty sure they're out of cherries," Allen said as he walked away, "But I'll see what I can do."

While Allen ordered their drinks with Whitechapel ("Well, how about a Nuka Cherry, do you have that?"), Curie expressed her latest curiosity.

"I notice that people tend to stare at me," she stated.

"That'll happen," Piper responded, knowing better than Curie the potential for catcallers.

"Is there something wrong with my backside?" Curie asked, finally getting to the point of her question.

Piper and Deacon looked at each other and came to the same conclusion. "Pawn this off on Allen."

"I should probably go check on Nat," Piper excused herself, "I'll see you all back at HQ tomorrow."

"And I have to go do some Tradecraft stuff, you wouldn't understand," Deacon said, trying to follow Piper.

"Wait, monsieur…" Curie started before being interrupted by Allen.

"Where's everyone going?"

"Oh good," Deacon said relieved. "You can answer her question."

"What is it regarding?" Allen asked warily.

"My backside." Curie supplied, as if it was a common topic. Before sitting down Allen looked at Deacon and said "Dismissed."

"So..." Allen started, handing Curie her drink, "Why are we discussing your backside?"

"I was wondering why people were staring at it." Curie recapped.

"Well," Allen rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Remember how humans have an innate requirement to breed?"

"Indeed."

"Well the backside is one of the indicators humans use to determine if someone would be a good breeding partner." Allen explained, starting to regret sticking around, but someone had to answer Curie's questions.

"But why do they stare?" Curie asked, her brow furrowing at the concept.

"Well most people find these indicators aesthetically pleasing," Allen provided, "And like all things, people like staring at things they find pleasing."

"Oh," Curie said, "I guess that makes sense. But why my backside in particular?"

Allen let out a subtle sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Objectively speaking," Allen searched for the politest words, "Most people would say you have a pleasing backside, more so than most other backsides."

"Oh," Curie said. She visibly relaxed at the provided answers, very much the contrary to Allen's closed eyes and his "God strike me down" expression. "Do you find my backside pleasing?"

Even Allen had his limits.

"Oh hey, would you look at the time." Allen shot up and looked at his Pipboy. "I'm need some rest. Hancock offered to put us up at the Old State house. Let's go."

"How inconvenient," Curie complained, "These bodies need to sleep. How can you humans get anything done in a mere eighteen hours."

"Practice."

* * *

Piper blinked at Allen. "She actually asked you if you found her backside pleasing?"

"Like asking how the weather was," Allen confirmed.

The latest MILA was to be placed in a hot zone. On the top of a high rise building no less, at least thirty floors. So, it was an all hands on deck situation, with Piper and Allen scaling the building, currently on floor fifteen, Deacon keeping watch over the lobby, and Glory and Curie clearing out the basement. A basement which, unbeknownst to Allen and Piper, was filled with super mutants.

"Didn't somebody teach her social norms?" Allen asked.

"No," Piper answered, "We were all too focused on getting her used to her body."

"That's unfortunate," he mumbled.

"No, what's really unfortunate is that you answered the question."

"How is that unfortunate?"

"She knows you'll answer these kinds of questions," Piper teased, "That means she'll actually come to you now."

"Well, fuck."

Their conversation was interrupted by a tremor running through the building.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

"What did you do?" Deacon demanded as Glory and Curie came running up from the basement.

"Madam Glory set off a mini nuke near a support column." Curie answered, clearly quite panicked by the entire situation.

Glory tried to justify herself. "It was an accident."

"How do you accidently set off a nuke?" Deacon shouted.

"All I did was shoot the mutant holding it!"

"What do we do?" Curie asked.

"Run like hell!" Deacon ordered.

"What of monsieur Marks and madam Wright?"

"They can take care of themselves," Deacon declared as he ran out of the now crumbling lobby.

"But – "

"Remember," Glory interrupted, "Trust your team."

Curie gave one last look towards the stairs before running after Glory and Deacon.

* * *

"Think you can jump that far?" Allen asked, pointing out the building adjacent to theirs.

"That's like a twenty foot drop!" Piper protested.

"Better that than fifteen stories," Allen assured her, "Tuck and roll, you'll be fine."

"You sure?" Piper asked, her eyes quickly switching between the new roof and Allen's face.

"Want me toss you?" Allen shouted.

"No," Piper said indignantly, "I've got this."

She took a running start and jumped. She landed, but forgot to tuck and roll.

Luckily, she "landed" on her feet and didn't do any permanent damage, but walking wouldn't be fun for a while. Allen was right behind her. Fortunately, he did remember to tuck and roll.

"I think I broke something," Piper called, clutching her ankle.

"Need a ride?" Allen offered, turning to give Piper a piggy back ride.

Luckily, Piper didn't protest. Allen made for the door leading back into the building, but before he could open it, it burst open. Raiders, of course. They didn't take long to dispatch.

"Think you can make it down the fire escape?" Allen asked as he probed the dead raiders for weapons.

"Yeah, why?"

"Well then, go down. Deacon probably saw us jump, he'll be looking for you. Get back to HQ and look after Curie. Don't let Glory talk her into any heroics." Allen told her. He finally found what little ammo the raider had on him.

"What about you?" Piper demanded.

"Somebody's got to cover your escape," Allen said, his answer supported by the yelling that was coming from the staircase.

Piper didn't respond. Allen wasn't even looking at her and he was talking about making a stand (possibly a last one) just to cover her. When he did look to her, just to find out why she hadn't responded, all he did say was, "This is not a staring contest."

Piper started limping towards the fire escape.

"If I'm not back at HQ by tonight, I'm taking a nap at Goodneighbor," he called after her.

Agent Marks stood in front of the door for a moment. "Two months," he muttered to himself, "Two more months." He shook his head as he loaded up his arsenal. "I was going to be a bartender." A makeshift rifle and some spare ammo, his Makarov with one clip, and a grenade. "Two fucking months." He shook his head one more time before taking off into the office building he was now tasked with clearing.


	10. Long Night

The raider's breath smelled of alcohol. Curie would have retched at the smell if she had time to process it.

"You're a screamer," he growled, a wolfish grin spreading on his face, "I'm going to take my time with you."

The words were familiar. Allen saved her last time.

"Bet your bodyguard's not here" The Raider taunted, sliding a knife down Curie's chest.

Allen had told her to trust her team. But with Allen gone, there wasn't a team to trust.

The raider cut lightly along Curie's throat, not enough to kill but enough. She was alone in this world, well and truly alone.

The Raider seemed to rethink his plan, and plunged the knife deep into her gut.

* * *

Curie woke to Piper shaking her lightly.

"You were having a nightmare," Piper explained as Curie wiped the sleep from her eyes.

"Is it time to look for Monsieur Marks?"

"They're deciding that now."

Curie sat up to find the Railroad leadership nearby, but their talking turned to yelling, and soon there wasn't a person in the church that couldn't hear their conversation

"We must wait until morning," Carrington demanded, "It is too dangerous to go searching at night."

"If the Operative lives that long," Desdemona argued. "We can't take any chances, he's too valuable."

"He's is a tough old bastard," Glory reminded them all, "He'll be fine."

"Well of course you'd tell yourself that." Deacon scolded her, sounding somewhere between angry and exasperated.

"How could you disagree?" Glory asked, "You've seen what he's capable of."

" I don't disagree," Deacon clarified, "But you don't just think he's going to think he's fine. You need him to be."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Glory turned away from Deacon.

"If he died it today, it would have been your fault."

Glory was quick to defend herself. "It was an accident."

"It always is, it's never your fault," Deacon mocked. "'I had to kill that guy, he was strung out and screaming. The route was supposed to be safe so of course I let my guard down!'" He recited irritably. "Because the great Glory, the Railroad's angel of death is incapable of fault."

"I do my best," Glory argued, "What did you expect me to do? Let the mutant kill me?"

"I expect you to exercise some common sense!" Deacon shouted, throwing his arms up. "I expect you to admit that you made a mistake!"

"Deacon!" Desdemona interrupted, "Stand down!"

"Not sorry, Des," Deacon shot back, turning briefly to Desdemona, "But she needs to hear this."

Deacon turned back to Glory and his tone took on an eerie calm, "If the Operative dies today it will be your fault. If we lose one of our best agents, it will have been because you were careless. If our friend, someone who we trust, dies it will have been because of you." Deacon shoved a finger at Glory's chest. "And you can justify all you want, 'Piper could have protected him' or 'he wasn't strong enough," but in the end, it's because you dropped a building on us, and he had to cover our escape."

For far too long, the Railroad was quiet. Only Carrington had the guts to say something.

"The fact of the matter is that a rescue mission at night is a bad idea, too many ways for it to go wrong."

"I don't care about facts." Desdemona countered. "I care about keeping my agents safe."

"Since when?" Carrington demanded, "We both know the precautions we've had to take."

"Since the Operative. Since one man turned the Railroad on its heel and made it a fighting force."

It went on. Eventually Piper motioned for Curie to get up.

"They're going to be at that for hours," the reporter said. "I'm going to go look for Allen. Want to help?"

Slowly, Curie started to stand.

For so long she had needed protecting and Allen had fulfilled that role. He trained her, taught her, protected her when she failed to protect herself. Allen was the team she was supposed to trust.

But now Allen was in danger, he needed protecting. It was Curie's turn.

"Absolutely"

"Good," Piper whispered, clasping Curie on the shoulder, "He said he'd try to make his way to Goodneighbor, let's start there."

* * *

"Sorry," Hancock shook his head, "Haven't seen the Shroud since he woke up on my roof."

"Thanks anyway, Hancock" Piper said, turning away from the beloved Mayor.

"Is something the matter?" Hancock asked.

"Got into a scrap," Piper evaded, "Allen scattered us, told us to meet up here."

"He's a tough old bastard," Hancock reassured, "He'll be fine."

Curie began to speak. "Objectively speaking -"

"He'll be fine," Hancock repeated, "And if you find him and he's not, bring his body here, we'll see that he passes with some respect."

"I appreciate that Hancock." Piper turned to leave again.

"Gonna give that dumb bastard a sweet ass Viking funeral!" Hancock shouted at Piper's back.

* * *

With a bit of effort Piper and Curie managed to find the building where Allen was last seen. When it came time to start searching floor to floor, Piper had to stay behind. As determined as she was, a sprained ankle was a sprained ankle.

Even knowing Piper was just yards beneath her, Curie never felt more alone, remembering the near century she spent in solitude in the vault. Once upon a time, Monsieur Marks promised to keep her safe, but if he wasn't there, who would?

Likewise, for the first time in Piper's life, she was clueless. Even when they argued, even when she left him behind, Allen felt like a constant fixture in her life, she knew she'd be hearing and writing about his exploits for years to come. She'd never admit it, but the she knew that the moment Allen caught the Institute's scent, that their days were numbered. Without Allen, she was finally afraid of the future.

When Curie came back down and told Piper that Allen was no more to be seen, it felt like a lie when Piper said that he might still be alive, that they just had to look elsewhere.

When they started looking again, it was for different reasons. Curie wanted Allen back, she wanted to save him and feel safe.

Piper wanted closure.

* * *

Curie hadn't moved in five minutes, they had been searching for a few hours without the incident, until finally the moonless night caught up with them and Curie tripped over something.

Piper tried to help the synth up, but Curie seemed determined to stay down, refusing Piper's help and offering only pained whimpers in response.

Eventually, Curie spoke.

"He promised to keep me safe."

"He would," Piper responded.

"During my first test, he saved my life." Curie recalled, "I collapsed, I was afraid." She curled up, hugging her legs to her chest, "He said that I was a part of his team, and he keeps his team safe."

"That's Allen."

"Who will keep me safe now?"

If there were enough light Piper would have noticed the tears now streaming down Curie's face. But she didn't need light to hear, she especially didn't need light to hear the air and the gasping moans of approaching ghouls.

"I'll keep you safe," Piper reassured her, leaping as well as she could to her feet. "But you need to run now."

"No more running," Curie declared and reached for her rifle, "No more fear."

Piper and Curie both aimed at where they last heard the ghouls.

"Aim small, miss small." Piper recited.

Suddenly the world seemed to change.

Where once there had been no light, there suddenly seemed to be all too much.

Where Piper had once stood, ready to make a stand with a Tommy gun gifted to her by the man she was looking for, she now lay on the ground the gun torn from her hands and then used with surprising precision, cutting down the ghouls faster than they could arrive.

Where once there had been doubt and fear, there was now certainty. Certainty that the man standing above her, smiling like nothing was wrong, was Allen.

"C'mon then," he said, helping Piper up. "Y'all know better than to travel at night without me."

"Can't say you were available, Blue." Piper admonished playfully as she dusted herself off.

"Sorry about that," he shrugged, "Long story, none of it fun."

Allen made an oof-ing noise when Curie crashed into him, giving the man a tight hug.

"We thought you dead!" The synth sobbed into his chest.

"I don't go down easy." Allen patted Curie's hair. "Sides, had to keep you two knuckle heads safe."

"Thanks, Blue" Piper said, reaching to shake Allen's hand.

He only smiled. "C'mon we need to get back to HQ."

* * *

Few things were as quiet as the church when Allen walked back in.

"Hey, guys," he said as he greeted the many stares, making a beeline for a cot. "Great to be back. Can I give my report tomorrow? I'm a little tired."

"Sure," Desdemona nodded, one of many still in shock.

"Thanks." Allen was already lying down. "Excuse me a minute."

And he promptly went to sleep.

"It's official," Glory said, one of many still staring at the Operative's now sleeping form, "The old bastard's immortal."

"It is time!" Deacon shouted, bending to his knees, "We must kneel before our new god! The Anti-Christ Operative!"

There was a series of "thwaps" that followed, and while Deacon felt them, Allen was long past hearing them


	11. Bad day

Few things get Old North Church quiet. Explosions can't quite cut it, given Tom's constant experimentation, arguments lack the flare they used to, and the firing range is only a few yards away from the common area, so people get used to ignoring things.

But Allen's last words before falling asleep again, shocked the Railroad quiet.

"I think I forgot to celebrate Christmas."

Its impact was lessened over the next day or so when Allen would drift in and out of consciousness, always with a weird comment. "I know I shouldn't be able to dodge a plasma shot but I did," was Glory's favorite.

Eventually, Allen regained his clarity, and he found himself chatting with Piper.

"I was worried about you." Piper commented, reaching out to clasp Allen's hand.

"I don't die easy," he bragged, fluffing his pillow. Piper sighed, grimaced, and clenched her eyes shut.

"No," she finally got out, "You don't."

"Why did that look like that hurt to say?" Allen asked, trying to be cute, which was not his specialty.

"I need to apologize." Piper finally admitted, Allen was visibly thrown by Piper's confession, shaking his head and pulling back.

"What for?"

"For so many things," Piper started, "But mostly for not believing in you."

"I don't…" Allen paused, seeming to taste each word. "…Understand," he finally settled.

"Remember our first big adventure?"

"Which one?" Allen requested, "Cause, full disclosure, I remember, maybe every other hour from my interview to passing out in Amari's office." Piper gave Allen a bemused look. "Mentats are a hell of a drug," he clarified.

"I meant the Silver Shroud job," she reminded him.

"Vividly." Allen allowed, nodding "Why do you ask?"

"Well, what do you remember?" Piper asked. "How do you remember it?"

Allen shifted beneath his cover, and squinted up at the ceiling of old North Church like it had a script written on it.

"I remember calling Whitechapel a lot of nicknames," He gave a half chuckle at the memory, "I remember putting the fear of God into anyone that met me." Allen poked at the Fedora on Piper's head, "I remember giving you that hat."

"Well," Piper refuted, finally getting to the heart of the matter, "I remember you being a hero, saving lives and taking down bad guys, and I got caught up in the whimsy of it all."

"That sounds like believing in me too much." Allen mused, receiving a light slap on the arm from Piper.

"Let me finish," She demanded.

"Fine, fine," Allen mock cowered behind the hand that wasn't holding Piper's.

"You seemed invincible, and for the month after that, doing job after job with the Minutemen, retaking the Castle, the artillery." Piper smiled happily at the memories. "I got lost in your heroics," she sobered up, grimacing a little, "When the Brotherhood showed up, and you did what you did, said what you said, it shocked me. Showed me how easily you lied." She was quiet for a full 30 seconds, "It scared me, I started to wonder if what I had seen so far was a lie, if the hero I'd seen was just an act."

"You weren't wrong" Allen comforted, "I almost got myself killed a lot at first."

"But you were always okay!" Piper exclaimed, "You always came back, you always lived. The other day Curie and I thought we were rescuing you!" She explained, leaning back and took her hat off, staring into it, "But even then, you ended up saving my ass." Piper put her hat back on and looked to Allen. "So… I'm sorry, for every time I ever doubted you, for every time I expected you to be something so much more than you were."

Allen reached up and patted Piper's shoulder.

"You never have to apologize to me."

The duo sat in more than comfortable silence for about a minute, before Allen broke it.

"The other day?" This had actually been bugging him for a little bit, "How long was I out?"

"You drifted in and out for about a day."

"Did I do that thing where I wake up, say something weird, and fall back asleep?" Allen asked.

"Yes, actually."

"Damn," Allen grunted, "Thought I kicked that."

"That's happened to you before?"

"Every now and again," Allen responded, shrugging, "Nora though it was hilarious"

"Really?" Piper demanded, disbelieving.

"Tough old girl was unflappable," Allen chuckled, "I don't think I've ever really seen her panic."

"Sounds like the perfect match for you." Piper observed, smiling at Allen.

"Aw, hell no." Allen laughed, laying back on his pillow and closing his eyes "I suppress my fear, Nora was fearless."

"Still sounds like the perfect match," Piper said.

"Yeah," Allen agreed, opening his eyes, "we kinda were." He sat up a little straighter, "She brought out the best me."

"How's that?"

"Still don't know." Allen scratched the back of his head. "As cliché as it sounds, she just knew me better than most, which says something given all the secrets I kept." He fidgeted, taking his hand from Piper and rubbing his own two together, "She kept me grounded, gave me a future. I may seem like I've got my head on straight but that wasn't always the case. I had my bad days," Allen closed his eyes, "But she kept me home, helped me find my way." Allen started shaking his head rhythmically - shake twice, blink, repeat. "Even when the bombs were falling she kept me grounded"

_We heard about it on the news first, Nora grabbed Shaun, I grabbed a gun. It's a good thing she was there, because I pointed it at anyone that came too close._

Shake twice, blink.

_We finally made it the Vault and damn if I wasn't in pieces, I was still pointing that gun, threatened the goddamn Overseer. Security almost had to take me down. But her arm was on mine, couldn't pull that trigger if I wanted too._

Allen wrapped himself in his arms.

shake twice, blink.

_They called the cryo pods 'decontamination chambers.' Shaun was crying, I was in shock. But Nora was talking, "Don't be scared, Papa's right there. Papa's right there." And there I was. Back to reality._

Piper wondered if she should stop him, it was like she wasn't there.

Shake twice, blink.

_"I'm here" I told them, "I'm here. We'll be okay. We're safe." I got in the pod and it got cold, way too cold. Next thing I know I hear voices, "This one. Let him go, I'm only going to tell you once." They'd taken my gun earlier, I couldn't shoot the glass._

Shake twice, blink.

_I didn't hear the hammer cock, but I heard the shot._

With one fierce shake of his head, Allen seemed to snap back to reality.

"Sorry." He apologized quickly, "That also happened from time to time." Piper opened her mouth to say something but she was cut off, "Forget about it, alright," Allen begged her, "And can I get some space?" He turned away, onto his side. "I need...I just… I need some sleep."

Allen seemed to fall quickly into a slumber. Piper walked away, accidentally bumping into Deacon as she went.

"Sorry," she said quickly.

"No biggie," Deacon waved her off, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Piper said, adopting the most casual tone possible "Why?"

"You're crying." Deacon pointed out. Piper quickly dried her tears.

"It's personal."

"The Operative alright?" Deacon checked.

"He's having a bad day."

The pair of them looked over to their friend.

"I guess even he has a few of those."

"I guess."


End file.
